


a concept unproven

by acollectionofdaydreams



Series: a concept unproven verse [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, M/M, Memory Loss, Past Relationship(s), Several years in the future from current canon, The Vow AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acollectionofdaydreams/pseuds/acollectionofdaydreams
Summary: On the night of their wedding anniversary, Quentin and Eliot are in a car accident. Both of them survive, but when Eliot wakes up, he doesn't remember anything about Quentin, their friends, or Brakebills. Quentin has to figure out how to help Eliot, who has no memory of him or falling in love with him. This is heavily inspired by the movie The Vow but is obviously going to deviate a bit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to issue a bit of a trigger warning for a descriptive scene involving a car accident in this first chapter (and also probably some dodgy inaccurate medical descriptions). I wrote it heavily from my memory of my own recent accident, so if that sort of thing is difficult for you, take care please. <3

Quentin had a theory about moments. 

Moments that were just a little bit more important than others. Like meeting the little girl who would become your lifelong best friend on the playground at school. Like the first time you feel your heart race when you look at another person, and the first time you feel it break when they leave. Leaving home. Graduating college. Stumbling through a bush, landing in upstate New York, and being told that magic is real. Those kind of moments. 

He had a theory that those moments define you. That those moments of impact set something into motion that might not have happened otherwise but couldn’t happen any other way now. But what if one day you woke up and you couldn’t remember those moments? Who would you be then?

~

It was their one year anniversary. Well, one year wedding anniversary, that is. Things got complicated quickly when they started trying to apply any sort of linear structure to the time they’d been together. So, to keep things simple, they’d been married for one year on Earth in timeline 40. Quentin had been fine with staying at home and popping open a bottle of champagne, but Eliot insisted on taking him out for the occasion. 

True to his natural flair for the dramatic, Eliot had outdone himself. They’d dressed to the nines and gone into the city for an Italian rooftop candle lit dinner, and they’d both been warm and drunk from the restaurant's house wine when they’d left. Quentin didn’t need grand romantic gestures to know Eliot loved him, but he appreciated the hell out of the effort Eliot put into showing him anyway. They’d had a rocky enough road getting to that point. After the monster, it took awhile before they figured out how to exist together again. Years of mistrust, fear, and insecurities eventually faded though and gave way to the steady, unyielding faith and love they had in each other now. So yeah, he’d let Eliot go a little overboard in celebrating that any day.

They could have portaled themselves home. However, portal magic was complicated when one had a clear head, and even Eliot was hesitant to attempt it after the several glasses of wine he’d consumed lest they end up in Moscow or something instead of their apartment. At least that’s what a wine drunk Eliot had told him. In any case, they were taking a taxi home. 

“It’s kind of nice to see the city like this,” Eliot said.

Quentin, who had been staring out the window, turned to look at him. 

“Like what, in traffic?” he asked.

“No, grumpy butt,” Eliot replied with a grin on his face. “You know what I mean.”

Quentin did know what he meant. If they weren’t using portals, they were using the subway to get around, and even though he’d lived near the city his whole life, he could appreciate its aesthetic appeal. He knew that the bright lights were doubly comforting for Eliot, who hadn’t had the luxury of growing up like he had. He was too drunk and happy to be grumpy about traffic when his husband was looking at him like that, so he reached out his hand and interlaced their fingers on the seat between them. Eliot began to slowly trace his thumb along his hand, and he sighed, contentment overtaking him. 

They were both too intoxicated for it to stop at contentment though. Eliot shot him a look that only gave Quentin a few second’s warning before he was unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding over into the middle seat. Quentin inhaled sharply as Eliot’s hot breath fanned across his neck. He looked quickly at the driver and felt relief overwhelm him as he noted that the man was nodding his head along to the radio and couldn’t have given two shits about them at that moment. That was about all the rational thought he had time for because Eliot started sucking at his neck then as he closed his eyes. He’d been thinking about getting his husband out of that expertly tailored suit all night, and it seemed that Eliot's mind was in a similar place. It was a wonder they’d made it to the car.

“El,” he whispered.

Eliot just hummed against his skin, his lips trailing their way to his jaw. He felt like he should probably tell him to stop, but on the other hand, why would he do a stupid thing like that? His drunk brain was more than happy to let things continue down this path. He gave in entirely when Eliot’s free hand came up to cup his face and turn his head at the same time his lips completed their path to Quentin’s mouth. Quentin smiled against him and leaned in. They kissed sweetly for a moment before Eliot started mouthing his way back down along his jaw. Quentin laughed, coming back to his senses about where they were again. He looked over Eliot’s shoulder, and that’s when he saw it.

It was about five seconds in total, probably. Headlights approaching way too quickly. The horn. The squealing tires. The scream of metal against metal. The airbag deployed that sounded like a gunshot. He was coughing. Was something on fire? Someone was shaking him. 

“Sir, sir!” 

Someone was shouting at him, but his ears were ringing. His body felt heavy. He opened his eyes and saw the driver’s shocked face looking at him. Oh. That’s right. They’d just been hit.

“Are you alright?” the man asked, seeing that Quentin was awake.

“Uh,” he stammered, not really sure himself.

Oh god, Eliot. He looked down, and discovered the heaviness he felt was Eliot’s body strewn across his. He bolted into action then, grabbing at Eliot’s shoulders roughly. The whole side of the car where Eliot had been originally sitting was caved in. He lifted him up just enough to get a good look at his face, and his stomach dropped when he saw that he was unconscious.

“Eliot!” he shouted. He stroked his face as he shook him gently. “El,” he said more quietly, “you’ve got to wake up. Hey, Eliot.”

He wasn’t waking up. 

He pulled Eliot against him, rocking him gently as he just kept repeating his name. He heard sirens, and there was just so much noise. An EMT opened the door and coaxed him out, making him leave Eliot in the car. He protested as he was led into the back of an ambulance.

“Wait!” he said, hearing the desperation in his own voice but not caring in the slightest. “My husband is still in the car! Please, oh my god.”

“He’s being loaded into another ambulance right now,” a kind but persistent voice said.

He whipped his head around and saw the dark haired woman who was leading him into the back of the ambulance for the first time. She looked impossibly calm under the circumstances.

“Sir,” she continued, “you’re both being taken to the hospital because you’ve just been in a car accident. I need you to lie down now for me so you don’t make your injuries worse.”

The doors were shut behind him, and he didn’t have time to process that they were moving before he was guided down to the gurney. The paramedics quickly went to work on him. Someone lifted his head and placed a bulky brace around his neck. He had no idea what else they were doing until a sharp burning feeling radiated from his right arm. 

“You’ve got a nasty cut,” the same woman from earlier said from somewhere to his left. “Looks like it was from the broken glass. You’re lucky you were wearing your seatbelt because that seems to be the worst of it.”

He turned his head as much as he could in the brace away from the flurry of movement and focused on her face instead. She was looking at him kindly and patiently.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked.

“Uh,” he stuttered. God, his arm hurt. He swallowed roughly before focusing on her question. His name. “Quentin. Quentin Coldwater-Waugh.”

“Very good, Quentin,” she nodded. “And how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine,” he answered.

“Well, that matches your driver’s license, so I’d say your head is fine,” she said approvingly.

His head didn’t feel fine, but he’d have to take her word for it. The paramedics on his right were still working, pressing something heavily against his bicep. The woman cleared her throat again, getting his attention.

“My name is Maria,” she said. “I wish we’d met under better circumstances, Quentin.”

He only nodded in response, looking behind her to take in all the various medical equipment and trying to count his breaths. He felt numb and cold. He knew it was shock. That was what people always said happened when you experienced something like this.

“Eliot,” he said, looking to the woman again. “My husband’s name is Eliot. Is he okay?”

“My colleagues are taking the best care of him they possibly can,” she said patiently. 

“Need to see him,” Quentin mumbled.

“Your arm is going to need some stitches, but I imagine someone will take you to him as soon as you’re all patched up,” she reassured him.

He didn’t have time to persist any further because they were stopping, and the doors were swinging open. He felt ridiculous being pushed along through the doors on the gurney, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to protest. Everything went quickly after that, and true to Maria’s word, he was given twenty stitches in his arm. The doctor examined him and made him follow a flashlight with his eyes, tell him who the president was, and say the alphabet backwards before finally clearing him to leave the ER. He practically ran to the nurse’s desk to find out where Eliot had been taken. 

The nurse sent him up to a third floor waiting room and told him that Eliot was in surgery. His doctor would be out to see Quentin shortly, so until then, he was left there to do the worst kind of waiting. Now that there were no stitches, no doctors, no exams, it was just him. Just him and the stretch of god awful carpet from the 80’s that he was pacing across. He hated hospitals. He’d spent his fair share of time in them, and they were all the same. Time felt like it stood still because the bright fluorescent lights stayed the same whether it was 2pm or 2am. They all had the same terrible antiseptic, eerie feeling and the same stuffy waiting rooms and the same feeling of dread emanating from every person tucked in a corner somewhere waiting for news.

Looking around the sparse waiting room he was currently occupying, it occurred to him then that no one else knew what had happened. He needed to call Julia and Margo. Oh god. Margo was in Fillory. He stopped pacing long enough to pull his phone out of his pocket and press Julia’s name on his favorites list. His pacing resumed as the phone rang. After three rings, she picked up.

“Hey, Q,” she said cheerily.

“Jules,” he said, his voice shaking.

“What happened? Are you okay?” she asked quickly.

“I need you to get Margo and come to the hospital,” he said, forcing the words out as calmly as possible. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Q,” Julia said. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

He closed his eyes and scraped his hand down his face.

“There was an accident,” he said. 

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, “but Eliot.... Just get Margo and get here, Jules. Fast.”

“Okay, okay. We’re on our way. Just text me the address and hang tight, okay?” she said.

“Thanks,” he answered.

He hung up the phone and plopped down into a chair by the window. After sending her a text with their location, he slid his phone back into his pocket. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t think about Eliot, in an operating room. He couldn’t think about the fact that he hadn’t been awake last time Quentin had seen him. He couldn’t think about Julia’s worried tone or how Margo was going to react. He couldn’t think about any of it. All he could focus on was that Eliot had to be okay. He just had to be.

After what could have been hours, he looked up to see a doctor approaching him.

“Mr. Coldwater-Waugh?” she asked.

“That’s me,” he said quickly.

He rose to his feet to meet her, and she smiled kindly. Cautiously.

“Why don’t you walk with me while we go over your husband’s condition?” she asked.

He didn’t see what choice he really had, so he nodded and let himself be guided down the white, sterile looking hall.

“Eliot’s condition is stable,” she started. 

He exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath until she said those words. Eliot was alive.

“However, when he hit his head on the window, it caused a considerable amount of internal bleeding and swelling along his skull,” she continued. “Luckily, we were able to contain it in time, and he should make a full recovery. For now, he’s been placed in a medically induced coma to allow that healing to take place.”

He nodded along, not entirely listening as she rattled off the possible cognitive side effects. All he really needed to hear was that Eliot was going to recover. He was going to be okay.

“When will he wake up?” he asked.

“We’ll taper his medicine down starting early in the morning, and he should wake up within a few hours after that,” she answered.

They stopped when Quentin realized they had circled back around to the waiting room from earlier. The doctor placed her hand on his arm, and he looked up to meet her eyes.

“You should go home and get some rest,” she said. “It’ll be a few hours yet before we can start the process of waking him up, and I’m afraid we can’t allow any visitors until then.”

She left him in the waiting room then, but he didn’t make any move to leave. He knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere without Eliot. He resigned himself to an armchair by the window and closed his eyes. 

It was only a few minutes before he heard rapid footsteps approaching. He opened one eye and was met with the most terrifying version of Margo he had probably ever seen coming right for him. She was dressed in markedly Fillorian clothes still, and she had a wild look in her eyes. He could barely sit up before she had him tackled him in a vice grip that was probably meant to be a hug. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his face in her hair. They held on for just a second before she pulled away and allowed Julia space to crush him in a hug as well. 

“Where’s Eliot?” Margo demanded. “Why aren’t we with him right now?”

Her voice was deceptively calm. It was her eyes that let Quentin know that she was closer to hysteria than she was letting on. He motioned for them to sit, which Julia did and Margo did not, and began to explain everything. By the time he’d finished, they had both sat down, claiming the chairs on either side of him. 

“We’re not leaving until he wakes up,” Margo promised.

Quentin looked into her determined eyes and couldn’t have felt more grateful for her than he did in that moment. She was Eliot’s best friend in ways that he would probably never understand, and because of that, she was his family now too. Margo loved with a fierceness that not many people had the capacity for when you were lucky enough to be one of those people she let inside her circle. He let himself hide away in that strength and take some for himself as he sucked in a ragged breath and held on to her hand. It was going to be a long night.

None of them slept, although Quentin started to truly feel the exhaustion hit him as they sat and talked. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he just wanted to crawl into his own bed with his husband and go to sleep. He couldn’t even think about sleeping though. Not knowing that Eliot was in a coma. So they took turns making coffee runs and sipping the stale, bitter tasting liquid instead. Quentin could practically hear Eliot in his head. _This is an insult to the coffee beans that died for this abomination to exist._ It was almost enough to make him laugh, but that was probably due more to the lack of sleep than anything else. 

Around 4am, the doctor from earlier came by again, not looking surprised to find them still there, and let them know that they were beginning to taper his medicine. How long it took for him to wake up after that was entirely up to him. It could be a couple of hours or all day. 

“Well, we might as well get comfy then because that bitch is not a morning person,” Margo said.

There was a beat of silence when Margo and Quentin locked eyes before both of them burst into hysterical laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, but once they started, they couldn’t stop. Julia thanked the doctor and left them alone to find the restroom, patting Quentin on the back as she walked away. It took them a hot second to pull themselves together, and he and Margo ended up draped all over each other as they gasped for air. 

“This is insane,” Quentin said, still not quite calm.

Margo clapped him on his uninjured shoulder and nodded her head.

“Yeah, well,” she agreed with a shrug.

She hooked her arm through his and said, “Come on, let’s go find a vending machine. I’m starving.”

He let her pull him along down the hall and tried to let some of the tension drain from his shoulders. Eliot was going to wake up. He was going to be okay.

Visiting hours officially started at 8am. At 7:30am though, Eliot’s doctor came to fetch Quentin. 

“His vitals indicate that he’s waking up, and we thought you should be there when he does,” she explained. 

Only Quentin was allowed to go in, as his spouse, and the others had to wait so as not to overwhelm him. He knew Margo was angry at being told to stay, but he could only focus on one thing at that moment. Seeing Eliot. He turned to the girls and huffed in surprise as Margo enveloped him in another tight hug.

“We’ll be right outside,” she promised. “Tell him he better savor you being all lovey dovey with him because I’m going to kill him when I get in there.”

He laughed against her shoulder and pulled away, rubbing her arm gently. She gave him a watery smile before pushing him along.

“Go on,” she said.

He looked to Julia, who gave him an encouraging grin and a thumbs up in return. He quirked his lips up in a hopeful smile and shrugged before turning to follow the doctor to Eliot’s hospital room.

His room was dark and quiet. The only noise indicating life was the steady beeping Quentin could hear from the heart monitor as they stepped inside and closed the door. There was a curtain wrapped around a bed in the center of the room, and he took a moment to steel himself before following the doctor through it. When he did though, he sighed in relief. He’d been worried about what he might see, but Eliot looked very much like himself. His hair was disheveled, curls all in disarray, but other than that he could have been sleeping wrapped up in the white and blue hospital gown and scratchy looking sheets. There was an IV and several monitors attached to his arm and a bandage along his right temple, where they must have had to operate. Some bruising appearing on his face and arms. But overall, he looked alive and whole. 

“He should be awake any minute now judging by his heart rate,” the doctor said softly. 

Quentin braced himself at the foot of Eliot’s bed, gripping the white rails. He studied Eliot’s face carefully, noticing every little movement. He was no telekinetic, but he would have willed his eyes to open then if he could. The seconds ticked by as the doctor busied herself scribbling notes into Eliot’s chart. Then, as if by some miracle, Eliot’s eyes began to flutter.

Quentin inhaled sharply and stood up to push his shoulders back as he waited. A few seconds more, and he got his first glimpse of warm hazel eyes looking back at him. His resolve crumbled then, and he chuckled out a small laugh.

“Hey El,” he breathed.

Eliot’s gaze flitted around the room nervously, and the doctor stepped around Quentin then to address him.

“Eliot,” she said. 

He looked to her.

“You’re in the hospital because you were in a car accident last night. We kept you asleep for a bit while you recovered, but you’re going to be okay,” she said encouragingly. 

He stared at her confusingly before turning his gaze to Quentin.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked.

“Too damn long,” Quentin answered.

Eliot stared at him, not seeming to get that he was joking. Well, maybe he wasn’t quite fully awake yet.

“Thanks for that expert analysis, doc,” he said flippantly. 

Quentin’s brow furrowed as he watched Eliot look away and around the room, seeming detached from the conversation. Quentin exchanged a look with the doctor, who was growing increasingly concerned judging by the confusion on her face. He turned back to Eliot.

“Eliot,” he said, “uh, you know who I am, right?”

Eliot looked back to him then, a deceptively bored expression on his face that Quentin knew to read as the deflection it was.

“Um, yes?” he asked. “You’re my doctor.”

Quentin’s heart dropped straight into his stomach as he stared at Eliot, uncomprehending. The doctor placed a hesitant hand on his arm, but he brushed past her to sit in the chair next to Eliot’s bed. Eliot’s eyes followed him warily as he came closer and reached out for his hand. As soon as Quentin’s fingers grazed his palm, he jerked his hand away, making Quentin flinch.

“Eliot,” he said softly. “I’m not your doctor. I’m your husband, Quentin.”

Eliot’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead, and he leaned back into his pillows. He eyed Quentin skeptically before lifting his left hand and looking down at the golden band there on his ring finger. 

“This has got to be a joke,” Eliot said sharply.

He looked to the actual doctor then and said, “I need to see Daniel. Is he here?”

Quentin shrunk back into his chair as the words sent an icy chill through him. If Eliot was asking for Daniel then that meant…

Eliot didn’t remember him. He didn’t remember _any of it_. Brakebills, Fillory, magic, Margo… oh god. Quentin felt sick.

He leapt out of his seat, not bothering to look at Eliot or the doctor before bolting out of the room. He paced down the hall quickly, not really aware of where he was headed until he ran right into Julia.

“Hey, Q, how is he?” she asked.

Margo looked up from her phone and took in his expression immediately. She strode over to him and gripped his forearm forcefully.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“He, oh god, he doesn’t remember. I don’t--” he said. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back into a quiff off his forehead. Margo grabbed his hand and forced him to look at her.

She demanded, “Q, slow down. What do you mean he doesn’t remember?”

He looked at her then, pleading with her to somehow understand what he was trying to say.

“He’s asking for Daniel,” he said helplessly, letting his other hand fall to his side.

He could tell the instant Margo understood. Her posture crumbled, and she gripped his hand tightly as her face grew pale. 

“Fuck,” she said.

Julia still looked confused as she watched them. She asked, “Wait, I don’t get it. Who’s Daniel?”

Quentin let go of Margo’s hand and began to pace back and forth as she explained.

“Eliot’s ex,” he heard her say. “From undergrad.”

“Oh,” Julia exhaled, seeming to catch up to them. 

He stopped his pacing and turned to look at his best friends in the world, who were looking at him right back. He asked, “What are we going to do?”

His only answer was a devastated silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the feedback on the last chapter and once again, i'm sorry!

After taking a break to get breakfast from the hospital’s cafeteria and settle their nerves, they all had a sit down with the doctor. She explained to them that this sort of thing, while not typical, could happen as a side effect of the kind of trauma Eliot had suffered. She said it would almost certainly pass as he recovered. Julia latched onto that hope immediately, but Margo and Quentin weren’t so eager to jump aboard the bandwagon. Quentin was tired. Forgive him if he wasn’t feeling optimistic about his husband not knowing who he was. And Margo, well, she was being uncharacteristically quiet.

The doctor had told him that Eliot wanted to see him again though, and it wasn’t like he could say no to that.

Eliot was sitting up scrolling through his phone with a curious look on his face when he entered the room. Upon noticing Quentin, his eyes followed him carefully until he was seated once again in the chair next to him. He didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at Quentin in a way that made him feel like he was under some kind of examination. 

Finally, Eliot said, “So, we’re married.”

“Yep,” Quentin replied, not really sure what else to say.

Eliot sighed. He said, “I’m thirty, married, and I have bad hair.”

Quentin couldn’t help the laugh that escaped then. Eliot turned to look at him with a sour expression, which only made him laugh harder.

“You said--” he breathed, “you said you liked the long hair and stubble. Said it made you look more sophisticated.”

“So, I’m a pretentious asshole now too?” Eliot asked.

Quentin had to try very hard to not tell Eliot he had always been a pretentious asshole, probably even more so when he was younger.

“I mean, I think it’s pretty hot,” he said instead, almost as a reflex.

He shrugged unashamedly as Eliot fixed him with a hard look. 

“Well, I’m shaving it,” Eliot shot back.

Quentin just grinned and shook his head. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten how exhausting Eliot could be, but he was admittedly a little out of practice dealing with it on this scale. 

“Well, it’s your hair,” he conceded. 

Eliot looked like he still wanted to argue, but he just looked down at the phone in his hands instead and scrunched up his nose. Seemingly out of nowhere, he said, “I can’t believe Donald Trump is the president.”

Quentin barked out a laugh and nodded his head. He said, “Yeah, I think the rest of us are still trying to figure that one out too.”

“At least my husband’s not a republican,” Eliot replied, and he gave Quentin a look that could almost be interpreted as a grin.

“Definitely not,” Quentin confirmed. “I was very much ‘with her’ in 2016.”

“What?” Eliot asked.

“Uh, nevermind,” Quentin said, not feeling remotely up for a political recap. Instead, he switched tracks, “So, the doctor said you should be good to come home tomorrow.”

Eliot nodded at him carefully.

“Yes, she said I should go home with you,” he said, seemingly weighing his words. “She thinks it will make me remember my life more quickly if I go back to my normal routine.”

“And what do you think about that?” Quentin asked.

He tore at the loose fabric on the edge of the chair while Eliot considered him.

“I think I would probably be homeless if I didn’t,” Eliot said.

That wasn’t exactly the excited answer Quentin was looking for, but it also wasn’t a no. With Eliot, ‘not a no’ was sometimes the closest to excited as you would get when he was in a mood. Still, he could see how strange this all must feel to him. If the roles were reversed, he couldn’t imagine he’d be excited to go home with a man he just met.

“Besides, I married you,” Eliot continued. “It must have been for some reason.”

“I like to think so,” Quentin replied with a small smile.

Eliot gave him a little tentative smile in return, and it made his heart flutter.

“So, we’ll go home then,” Eliot said, the words sounding foreign on his lips, “to the place we both live.”

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” Quentin offered, still feeling the need to give him an out. “You could stay with Margo for a bit if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

Eliot furrowed his brow. He asked, “Who’s Margo?”

Oh, that’s right. He didn’t remember her either.

“Right, uh, Margo is your best friend,” he said. Eliot didn’t react, and something inside him felt the need to impress this importance upon him when he thought of Margo’s emotionless expression from earlier. He continued, “She’s like, your very best friend, El. Sometimes I even think you love her more than me. She’s here, if you’d like to see her.”

He looked at Eliot hopefully, and there was a little bit of curiosity there. Maybe. If he squinted. 

Eliot said, “I don’t suppose it could hurt.”

“Great,” Quentin said, feeling a little relieved. He said, “I’ll go get her, just wait here.”

He made it to the door when he heard Eliot call out, “It’s not like I can go anywhere!”

He laughed to himself as he shut the door and made his way down the hall. Eliot was still Eliot at least, if a bit more insufferable than usual. 

When he reached the waiting room, Julia stood to meet him. 

“I think I’m going to head out, unless you two need anything else,” she said. She waved her phone in her hand and said, “Kady’s worried, so I need to go fill her in.”

He nodded at her and stepped forward to wrap her smaller frame in his arms. She snaked her arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly in return.

“We’re good, I think,” he said into her hair. “It’s not like Eliot would know who you were anyways, so it’s probably best not to overwhelm him yet.”

She nodded as she pulled away and shot a glance to Margo, who was watching them quietly. 

“Thanks for being here, Jules,” he said.

She smiled at him and reached out to brush his unruly hair back off of his forehead.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said.

“I will,” he promised.

She placed her hand on Margo’s shoulder and gave her a quick smile before taking off in the direction of the elevator. Quentin turned his attention back to Margo then, who still hadn’t said anything.

“Uh, he said he’d like to see you,” he said carefully.

Her eyes shot up then, and he really didn’t want to be the one to squash that hope he saw in them. This whole day was an exercise in lowering expectations though.

“He, uh, doesn’t remember you, sorry,” he said, and he felt like the worst person in the world as he watched her take that in. He continued, “But he still wants to meet you.”

“Alright,” she said, straightening out her now considerably wrinkled black Fillorian shirt as she stood. “Take me to him, then.”

“Margo,” Quentin said. “Are you sure?”

She lifted her hands up to her sides and gave him an exasperated look before dropping them. She said, “It’s Eliot. What choice do I have?”

He simply nodded and turned to lead the way. He couldn’t argue with her there.

When they walked in, Margo gripped Quentin’s hand tightly. He heard her breath catch in her throat as soon as she saw him. Before he could begin to stop her, she launched herself out of his grip and into Eliot’s arms. Eliot, to his credit, didn’t freak out. He just shot Quentin a surprised look over her shoulder before bringing one arm up to pat her back awkwardly. Quentin just shrugged at him. It was Margo. She pulled away and took a step back after a short moment, straightening her shoulders as she regained her composure. Eliot had an amused look in his eyes as he watched her.

“Margo, I presume?” he asked.

She nodded at him, and Quentin had to be proud of her for not flinching away like he had. They continued to stare each other down, to the point that it was becoming awkward. It looked like they were having some sort of silent conversation, and Quentin had no idea what that might be under the circumstances. Finally, Eliot tilted his head at her, and a ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“Well, Margo. You’re a little overdressed for the hospital, don’t you think?” he asked.

She placed a hand on her hip and huffed. She said, “Well, I was kind of in the middle of something when Q sent the distress call. Sorry I didn’t stop for a wardrobe change on my way.”

He gave her a slow once over and asked dryly, “What were you in the middle of, a renaissance faire?”

“No, dumbass, I was in Fi-” 

Quentin cleared his throat loudly, and both of them turned to look at him as if they’d just remembered he was there. He focused his attention on Margo and shook his head pointedly, trying to send the message _he doesn’t know about Fillory_. She inhaled sharply and raised her eyebrows when she caught on.

Turning back to Eliot, she said, “Doesn’t matter. The point is, I was kind of in a hurry.”

Eliot looked between the two of them suspiciously before saying, “Now, now. Secrets don’t make friends, and it’s hardly fair to keep things from me when I’m the one who lost my memory.”

Quentin said, “We’ll give you the full debriefing if you don’t remember first, I promise. I just don’t think now is the best time to get into… everything.”

He looked to Margo for back up, and she nodded once before looking back at Eliot. 

Eliot sighed and looked away out the window, apparently done with the conversation. Undeterred by his dismissal, Margo sat down in the hospital chair and placed her feet on the side of his bed. His gaze shot down at her feet then back up to her face, and she simply grinned at him like _what are you going to do about it_.

She said, “I’m sure it’s been fun watching Quentin make sad heart eyes at you all morning, but I’m here now, and I could tell you stories about the last few years of your life that will make your head spin.”

“Margo,” Quentin warned.

Eliot’s interest was clearly piqued at that as he leaned forward towards her. He said, “Please tell me there are orgies involved.”

“Oh honey,” Margo smiled. “You have _no_ idea. We have so much to talk about.”

“Margo,” Quentin said, more sharply this time.

She turned to him with an all too familiar exasperated look on her face and said, “Relax, Q. I’ll keep it muggle-friendly for now.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look at the thinly veiled metaphor, but she just turned to Eliot and asked, “You haven’t read Harry Potter, have you?”

He shook his head and said, “God, no.”

“See?” she asked, gesturing towards him. “Clueless. Now, why don’t you go be a good boy and get us some coffee while El and I catch up?”

Quentin just shook his head at her and laughed despite himself because Eliot was staring at her like she hung the moon. Only Margo could manage to have Eliot completely enraptured with her within five minutes of meeting her. He didn’t know why he’d expected anything less. He gave in to her demand, strolling out of the room to leave them alone. He knew Margo well enough to know that despite her teasing, she’d most likely play it safe. Probably. 

He took the moment alone when he didn’t have to be worried about Eliot to make a phone call he’d had in the back of his mind since he’d heard the news. It rang a few times as he paced down the hall before a familiar, deep voice picked up.

“Hello, Quentin,” Henry Fogg said.

“Uh, hi. Is now a good time to ask you for a huge favor that might actually be impossible, by any chance?” he asked, not taking a breath for the whole sentence.

He heard the dean sigh heavily, and he kept walking as he waited.

“That’s the only reason anyone ever calls me on this line, so I don’t see why not,” Henry drawled. “What is it, Quentin?”

“Well,” Quentin started. “It’s Eliot. We were in a car accident, and he’s okay and everything now, but he’s kind of lost his memory?”

“How much of his memory?” Henry asked, sounding a bit more interested now.

“Somewhere around eight to ten years, I’m guessing,” Quentin answered. “He still thinks he’s in undergrad, before Brakebills.”

“I see,” the dean said, cryptic as ever. He continued, “I assume you’re wanting to know if there’s any way we can magically restore his memories.”

He said it as a statement and not a question, which was fair. There really wasn’t any other reason he’d have called.

“I mean, yeah,” Quentin said. “The doctors basically told us to wait it out, but we have magic. Surely there’s something we can do.”

“Well,” Henry said, “I’m no healer, but I do know that there are memory retrieval spells. I must warn you, though, those typically only work when the memory loss is magical in nature. I’m not sure if magic would be effective in this situation.”

Quentin hadn’t really listened to anything he’d said after hearing that there were actually spells for this kind of thing. Sure, magic sucked a lot of the time, but what was it good for if they couldn’t fix the important things?

“We need to try,” he said. 

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” Henry said with a touch of amusement in his tone, which irritated Quentin just a bit. He continued, “If you can get him to Brakebills, I’ll have Professor Lipson check him over. I can’t make any promises though.”

Quentin closed his eyes as he sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” he said fervently.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Henry warned.

“Yeah, okay,” Quentin said, a little too sleep-deprived for the ominous bullshit. “We’ll be there as soon as I figure out how to tell Eliot that magic is real.”

Henry chuckled at that and said, “Good luck.”

The line went silent, and Quentin looked at his phone to see that the dean had hung up. Whatever, it was a lead. Realistically he knew it might not work, but like hell was he going to leave a single stone unturned.

He took his time puttering around the little kitchenette in the waiting area. It wasn’t that he was avoiding Eliot by any means, but he knew Margo needed the time just as much as he did. He envied her ability to have Eliot wrapped around her little finger just like that. She was just like Eliot, the kind of person who lit up a room and made you want to be someone she knew. Quentin wasn’t that though. It had been a long while since he’d felt that pang of inadequacy when Eliot looked at him, that amazement that he’d want anything to do with him in the first place. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling it now though with the way Eliot had looked at him like a stranger who couldn’t possibly measure up to the person he’d imagined himself being with. He knew he wasn’t being fair to Eliot if he expected him to fall madly in love with him again in a morning after the years it had taken them to get there. It wasn’t like it was his fault he didn’t know who Quentin was. That didn’t stop the way Quentin’s heart felt like it was breaking though.

On his way out of the kitchenette with two coffees in hand, he was surprised to find Margo walking down the hall towards him with her shoulders hunched inward and a hand over her mouth. He barely had time to register that she was crying before she got close enough to bury her face in his chest. He fumbled to set the styrofoam cups down on the counter without spilling them before he was finally able to wrap his arms around her shaking body.

He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen Margo cry, and that was because she didn’t cry. She got angry, mean, loud, and sometimes a little scary, but she didn’t cry. That was how he knew something was really wrong.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said quietly, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

She just continued to sob into him, and he brought his other hand up to stroke her hair. After a long moment, she took a step back and wiped at her eyes. She looked just as tired and heartbroken as he felt, and he ached for her just as much as he did for himself.

“What happened?” he asked her, hoping to not set her off again. “When I left, it seemed like everything was going surprisingly well?”

“It was,” she choked out in a rough voice, clearing her throat. “Eliot’s easy to win over if you know which buttons to push.”

“Okay,” he said, still confused, “so, what’s the problem?”

She sighed and looked at him as if he was being dumb. Tension rolled off of her tiny frame in waves as she said, “The problem is I can tell him all the stories I want, but he doesn’t _remember them_. When he looks at me? There’s nothing there. I’m as good as a stranger to one of the only people I give a goddamn shit about in this fucking shitty ass world!”

And there it was, the trademark Margo anger, but there was barely any heat behind it. On the contrary, it looked as if that one outburst had exhausted her entirely. She just stared up at him with those wild and desperate eyes. 

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said quietly.

Her fire crumbled a bit at that, and she leaned back against the counter, mirroring his posture so that she could let her head drop onto his shoulder. He brought his arm up to wrap it around her waist, and she let herself be pulled closer. They were all that Eliot had, and they were a goddamn mess.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me sprinkling hadestown references into every unrelated thing i write from now on because i like to suffer

Eliot was discharged from the hospital the next evening. They’d spent most of the day going through a myriad of tests, setting up follow up appointments, and then waiting around before he was finally declared free to go. Quentin and Margo had reluctantly left the hospital the night before, needing to get things in order and, you know, sleep. Margo had rushed in from Fillory quite suddenly and therefore was not prepared for the extended stay on Earth she would now be making. She’d left to update Fen and Josh on Eliot. Also to put the fear of god into the entire royal counsel about not letting her kingdom fall apart without her. Quentin had gone back to his and Eliot’s apartment to shower and get a few hours of rest before gathering some clothes in a duffel bag for Eliot and going back to the hospital.

Quentin had a pretty clear cut mission to get in and out of the apartment and back to Eliot as easily and quickly as humanly possible. That wasn’t exactly how it went though. He’d stayed at the hospital for awhile, sitting with Eliot and Margo as they answered questions and recounted stories from the last few years of their shared lives. Eliot was quiet for the most part. He didn’t ask a lot of questions. He listened intently though, hanging onto every word they had to tell him about himself. 

Watching him walk that tightrope of casual indifference while also being desperate to know more was exhausting. This was an Eliot that was buried deeper underneath his walls than even the earliest version of Eliot that Quentin had known. Knowing the carefully guarded person Eliot was and the reasons for it, it made Quentin’s heart break for him. It wasn’t like he could do much of anything about it though. Not if he didn’t want to send Eliot running.

So when he’d gotten home that night, he’d already been emotionally drained on top of being deliriously, bone-deep tired. The nap he’d finally gotten in the hospital waiting room was decidedly not enough. He’d dropped his keys on the kitchen table and gone straight for their bedroom, intending to fall face first on the bed and pass out. When he opened the door though, his heart stopped.

They had been out for their wedding anniversary on that fateful night that felt like years instead of days ago. And well, thank god Quentin had come home first without Eliot. There were rose petals scattered artfully across their bed, and a faint sweet scent lingered in the air like a perfume. Peaches, Quentin noted. Next to the bed on Quentin’s nightstand, there was a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of champagne, and a sealed envelope with a cursive Q written on it. With his heart in his throat, he walked over and picked up the envelope. His fingers trembled as he carefully tore the golden Fillorian seal. There was a folded up paper inside it. He clocked it as Fillorian parchment right away with the faded otherworldly look it had to it. He pulled it out of the envelope and sat down on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping underneath him. As he unfolded it, he saw Eliot’s handwriting scrawled across the page. 

_Quentin,_

_If you’re reading this, that means it’s our one year anniversary._

Quentin gasped softly. He tore his eyes away from the page and glanced around the room again. He felt utterly wrong, doing this alone. Eliot should be there with him. They should be celebrating, and Quentin shouldn’t be sitting alone with the feeling of hot tears stinging his eyes. He didn’t have the strength to fold the letter up and leave it for later though. So, he read on.

_We just got married. Maybe if I say that like five more times, it will sink in. We just got married. _

_I don’t think I have to tell you what that means to me. I’m pretty sure everyone here got an idea of it when you made me cry in front of all of our friends earlier with your vows, so thank you for that, again. I’m going to tell you anyway, here, though because that’s kind of the point of this whole exercise._

_I never planned on growing up and getting married, not for love anyways. I didn’t think it was in the cards for me. My life, it didn’t work before you, Q. I know you don’t like it when I get all emo and self-deprecating, but it just didn’t. I was hell bent on never needing anyone the way I need you. And I do need you, Q. From the moment you stumbled through those hedges at Brakebills, you turned everything I thought I knew about the world upside down. No one has ever seen me the way that you do and loved me anyway. When you look at me, it’s like I can see how things could be in spite of the way that they are. Who I could be. You make me want to work for that future. Our future._

Quentin sniffled as a tear fell on the page. He hurriedly tried to wipe it away, not wanting it to stain the parchment.

_I don’t have to tell you that you make me a better person. Stronger. Braver. You’ve turned me into the kind of person who does horrifically sappy things like hiding at our wedding reception and writing you this letter while Margo distracts you._

He laughed aloud, despite himself. He remembered Margo dragging him onto the dance floor that night. They’d had several glasses of Fillorian wine by that point, and they’d laughed and laughed as they spun each other around. Looking back, it was a little suspicious how Eliot had seemed to disappear. The sneaky little romantic shit. 

_I’m not sure how much more of Margo’s dancing you’re going to tolerate though so I’d better wrap this up. To put it simply, I love you. I love you, Q. I promise that will be true, no matter what else may change, for the rest of our lives. In this timeline and every other._

_Happy anniversary, Q._

_Love,  
Eliot_

He folded the letter carefully along its worn creases and sat it down on the nightstand in front of him. He let his head fall into his hands and pressed his fists into his eyes as the memories of that night washed over him. 

They’d had the perfect wedding. Perfect for them, anyways. Neither of them had much family left to speak of that they cared to invite, so they had the ceremony in Fillory instead. Luckily, every single one of their friends had managed to make it for the occasion. Fillory was significantly more stable and safer to visit after years of difficult work cleaning up the whole Dark King mess and restoring the peace. It was finally a place that Quentin could look at with some pride instead of the great disappointment it had once been.

Eliot had gone _slightly_ groomzilla over the whole affair, and Quentin mostly just left him to it. At the end of the day, it had been a beautiful ceremony though mixed with Earth and Fillorian traditions. Margo tied their hands together under the wedding arch, and they exchanged their own handwritten vows. Julia and Margo had given speeches, Julia’s making Quentin cry and Margo’s making them all cry from laughter. Afterwards, they’d all danced under the stars and laughed the night away with the Fillorian wine flowing. It was easily the best night of Quentin’s life.

He took a long deep breath and stood from the bed. He placed the letter back in its envelope, hiding it away in his bedside drawer. He was too tired to let himself think about how much effort Eliot had put into the whole thing or the night it could have been. So instead, he let himself feel detached from everything for the first time since the accident. He quietly and resolutely picked up the rose petals one by one and placed the champagne and flowers in the kitchen. He did a quick tut to get rid of the perfume enchantment when he stepped back into the room. Then finally, he turned off the lights and crawled into bed.

The next evening, Eliot was coming home. The drive home from the hospital was awkward. Quentin felt a little twitchy and wrong sitting in the back of the taxi as they twisted and turned through the city streets. Despite his best efforts, he kept picturing those final moments of their last drive in his mind. The impact that had nearly cost them everything. If Eliot had been in his own seat when that car hit and crushed that side of the vehicle. If the other car hadn’t ran the stop sign. If Quentin hadn’t been there to stop Eliot from hitting the window harder than he had. If their driver had seen the car coming and had enough time to get out of the way. If, if, if. 

Eliot was quiet and unaffected beside him. 

When they got home, Quentin held his breath as Eliot followed him inside their apartment. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride as he watched him visually assess the place. The aesthetics were heavily inspired and curated by Eliot himself, of course, but there were touches of both of them throughout. Quentin stuffed his hands in his pockets as he watched Eliot take it all in. 

He said, “So, welcome home?”

The corners of Eliot’s mouth turned up a little bit as his eyes flitted around, as if he just couldn’t help himself. When he turned to Quentin and nodded though, it was with a schooled expression.

“It’s nice,” he said.

“You have yourself to thank for that. I’m, uh, not much of an interior designer,” Quentin admitted with a sheepish grin. 

Eliot gave him an appraising look before turning back to the apartment and saying, “Well, I do have impeccable taste.”

Quentin rolled his eyes and laughed like he always does at Eliot’s quips, and Eliot watched him curiously before breaking out into a small grin. Quentin felt like it was a battle won, even if it was a small one.

“So, I’ll show you to the bedroom,” he said. Eliot was quiet behind him as they walked down the hall, and he realized how it must have sounded. He hurried to add, “I mean, you can sleep in there, and I’ll sleep in the guest room, of course, until Margo gets here. Then I guess I’ll take the couch.”

“Until Margo gets here?” Eliot asked.

“She stays with us when she’s in town,” Quentin explained.

He hoped Eliot would let it go because they were entering Margo is High King of another world territory. No luck though, because Eliot’s curiosity was sufficiently peaked.

He asked, “She doesn’t live in New York?”

“No, uh, she took a job out of town, but she visits often,” Quentin said, flicking on the lights and stepping aside for Eliot to walk into their bedroom.

Before Eliot could ask any further questions, he showed him the closet and ensuite bathroom where all of his things were. Eliot may have had the mind of a much younger version of himself, but he definitely had a near gleeful look on his face as he saw the wardrobe and hair products owned by his older self. Quentin had to bite back a tongue in cheek grin at the risk of Eliot thinking he was laughing at him.

He went into the closet to gather his own sleep clothes while Eliot rummaged through his things in the bathroom. When he came out, Eliot was sitting on the bed looking around the room. 

“So, uh,” Quentin stammered, “I’ll just be in the guest room down the hall on the right if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Eliot said simply, though his eyes betrayed the way his brain was working overtime as he watched him.

“Okay,” Quentin said. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Eliot replied.

Just as Quentin was halfway out the door, he heard Eliot clear his throat behind him. He paused.

“Thank you, Quentin,” he said. 

Quentin smiled, his back still turned, and said, “You’re welcome, El.”

He had planned to stay home with Eliot the next day and help him get settled in, but of course, the best laid plans and all. When he got up, Eliot was still in bed. He figured it was for the best after all he’d been through if he was getting plenty of rest. It was also for the best because there were two bunnies sitting on the sofa when he entered the living room, just hanging out like they lived there.

“SORRY, FILLORY DRAMA,” one shouted.

The other piped in, “HOW’S EL? BE BACK TONIGHT!”

He looked over his shoulder quickly and noted the bedroom door was still shut before turning back around to the messenger bunnies. To his horror, they started to repeat their messages, and he frantically shushed them.

“Shut up! Shut up!” he whisper yelled.

He grabbed the one on the left and whispered, “Stop sending bunnies, dumbass!”

Feeling satisfied with himself, he sent that one on its way back to Margo before sending the other one along with a more polite “El’s fine, see you later.”

That minor interruption out of the way, he set about making breakfast. He wasn’t the best cook between the two of them, and it definitely showed, but he could manage pancakes like 80% of the time. If Eliot didn’t like them, he’d never made it known. So, Quentin lost himself in the busiwork of mixing the batter and getting the necessary kitchenware ready. He almost didn’t notice Eliot had entered the room at all until he heard a barstool scrape across the tile from somewhere behind him.

He peeked over his shoulder and shot a smile at Eliot, dressed to the nines and his hair fully styled. He was in the habit of being much more chill about his appearance at home these days, even lounging around in sweatpants on occasion. That was Quentin’s husband, Eliot, though and not this Eliot who still saw him as a stranger.

“Pancakes will be done soon,” Quentin said.

Eliot hummed behind him. The silence that settled over them was somewhere between comfortable and awkward. Quentin felt more at ease around Eliot than any other human, but he could feel eyes on his back watching his every move, and that had him just the littlest bit on edge. He switched off the stove top and placed the pancakes and syrup on the bar where Eliot was sitting before pulling up a stool across from him. The weird silence continued as they ate at first, but then Eliot’s curiosity won out.

“So, what do I do all day?” he asked. “I assume we have jobs or something.”

And well, Quentin hadn’t quite gotten around to coming up with an explanation for that.

“Uh, yeah we do, but I’ve called in for both of us already, so you don’t have to worry about that yet,” he said, painfully aware of how vague he sounded.

Eliot was definitely aware of it too. He eyed him suspiciously before asking, “Okay, but what do we do exactly?”

Maybe he’d spent too much time with Eliot over the years because, with the grace of someone who’d grown surprisingly good at deflection, Quentin started with himself. He said, “Well, I run a publishing company with Julia.”

“Julia?” Eliot asked.

Right, he didn’t know Julia.

“She’s my best friend from high school,” Quentin explained. “She’s actually pretty good friends with you too now. She came to the hospital. She, uh, told me to tell you she’s glad you’re back home.”

Eliot nodded at that, as sincerely as one could in response to someone you don’t know.

“And me?" Eliot asked.

Quentin huffed. The truth was that Eliot was somewhat of a Fillorian ambassador. Ever since the post-monster Fillory days when all hell had broken loose across pretty much every world, he had actually been working fairly closely with Alice and the Library. It was in everyone’s interest for the balance between worlds to stay as stable as possible. The Library, not historically a noble and trustworthy institution, had a lot of unanswered questions about the strange little planet. With the Library’s resources, he and Alice had been working to repair relations for quite some time and to improve things such as inter-dimensional travel and time stabilization in and out of Fillory. It was an interesting and complicated relationship they had, but Quentin was just grateful they didn’t hate each other anymore if he was honest. 

The problem was that he couldn’t really explain any of that without a much bigger conversation taking place.

Eliot was still watching him carefully though, so he said, “You, uh, you work for a library.”

Eliot being employed by the Library was so far from the truth it was laughable, but it would have to work for now.

Eliot’s nose visibly turned up in disgust, and Quentin hid a laugh behind his hand.

“Okay, now I know you’re bullshitting me,” Eliot said. “There is no way I work for a library.”

Quentin laughed, despite being called out on his lie. He said, “You actually find it really fulfilling, or so you tell me.”

“Then I must be really good at lying,” Eliot scoffed. His eyes shot back down to his plate. “Figures Broadway didn’t pan out for me though.”

Quentin’s heart ached at the genuine disappointment in his tone underneath the snark. It was true that Eliot had gone to New York in search of a theatre career. The discovery of magic sort of trumped that though, which this Eliot had no idea about. Quentin realized then that Eliot must be feeling like he’d failed in some way, and he just couldn’t have that. 

“You’re really good at your job,” he said earnestly. “What you do makes a big difference for a lot of people, and you love your work.”

Eliot didn’t look convinced. He did shrug though and say, “If you say so.”

Quentin would have spent the rest of the day telling Eliot how great he was, but his phone buzzed on the counter then. He glanced over at it to see a text from Julia. Then another. And another.

He picked up his phone and sighed as he read through them. 

“Everything okay?” Eliot asked.

“Not really,” Quentin said, irritation lacing his voice. “Julia needs to me to come down to the office.”

“Then go,” Eliot said, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ll be fine here. I’m sure there’s a whole new world waiting for me on Netflix after all.”

Quentin looked at him and chewed on his bottom lip as he thought it over. Then his phone buzzed again.

“Fuck, Julia,” he muttered. He sighed. “Okay. My number is in your phone. Call me if you need anything at all, alright? I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hours tops.”

He put away his dishes and got dressed in a hurry. On his way back out, he paused beside the sofa where Eliot was sitting scrolling through their Netflix account. He leaned down to drop a kiss to the top of his head and only realized what he’d done when Eliot froze.

“Uh, sorry, I-” Quentin stammered.

Eliot was giving him an odd look. 

“Habit,” Quentin laughed nervously, pulling at the sleeves on his hoodie. “I’m just--gonna go.”

“See you later,” Eliot called as he reached the door.

“Yeah, see ya,” Quentin replied.

He had been planning to curse Julia out the second he got to her for calling him in to work, but his resolve crumbled when he saw her panicked face.

“What? What is it?” he asked.

“It’s Johnson. They’re trying to back out of negotiations,” she rushed out.

“Shit,” Quentin muttered. He placed a hand on Julia’s arm as he brushed past her towards the conference room. “You were right to call me. Let’s go.”

He spent the next several hours in a boardroom arguing with their biggest client’s literary agent. By the end of it, he wanted to tear his hair out. They saved the deal, but he was starting to wonder at what cost had they done so. Definitely at the cost of his patience if nothing else.

“I’m going to go gray by thirty-five,” he said over a cup of coffee in the breakroom.

Julia laughed beside him and nudged his shoulder with hers.

“And we thought a muggle job would be less likely to kill us,” she joked. 

“Yeah, I’m starting to question that logic,” Quentin replied.

He sipped his coffee, and Julia bit into her donut in silence. It was the first break they’d had since he walked through the door. He felt lucky definitely not for the first time that it was Julia by his side on this venture. He’d lose his head without her.

“How’s Eliot doing?” she asked.

Quentin tipped his head to the side and shrugged.

He said, “He seems fine. I left him on the couch with Netflix this morning.”

“Does he…?” she asked, trailing off as if she was afraid to ask.

“No,” Quentin answered. “No memories yet. It’s only been a day though so I guess we just have to be patient.”

She nodded and gave him a quick smile.

“Besides, Margo will be back tonight,” he continued. “We’re going to try to rip off the magic band-aid so we can get him checked out at Brakebills sooner rather than later.”

“That’s a good idea,” she agreed.

Neither of them said what they were thinking, which was that magic had never really helped them out before. He knew it was a long shot, but he was a desperate man so he wasn’t writing it off yet.

It was late afternoon by the time Quentin managed to get away. Julia sent him home around 3pm though, telling him she could handle things herself thank you very much and to get back to his husband. He couldn’t argue with that, and he found himself practically falling through his front door as the exhaustion of the day hit him. He looked around the room hopefully, not spotting Eliot yet. He toed off his shoes and padded over to the kitchen table to drop his keys when he saw a note.

_Went for a walk, be back soon. - Eliot_

Quentin had to tamp down the initial panic that rose in his chest. Eliot had lived in New York during undergrad. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to get around the city on his own. Then Quentin spotted Eliot’s cell phone sitting on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Fuck.

He wore a path across the living room floor, weighing his options. He could try to call Margo. He didn’t have any bunnies though and he’d told her not to send any more, which complicated matters. He could go looking for Eliot, but New York was, like, a massive city. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. He could call the police, but then what would he say? His thirty year old, perfectly capable husband had gone for a walk? Eliot would freak if he sent the cops after him. Unless something was actually wrong. Quentin pulled his fingers through his hair and groaned. He could just trust Eliot. He was a grown man, and he could take care of himself. Or Quentin would just have to hope.

His hope diminished greatly after two hours passed without a sign of him. He was staring down his phone, weighing the pros and cons of calling the police, when he heard a key turning in a lock followed by his front door opening. He shot up from the sofa and hurried over only to stop short when he saw Margo step inside. She took one look at him and dropped her bag onto the floor as she shut the door. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, walking right up to him.

He glanced over her shoulder at the closed door and ran his hand through his hair.

“Uh, I can’t find Eliot,” he said.

Margo punched his shoulder, and he winced.

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t find Eliot?” she asked.

He held up his hands and said, “Look, I was only gone for a few hours. There was an emergency at work, and he said he was fine to stay here and watch Netflix. When I got back, he was gone.”

Margo’s fiery gaze didn’t lessen as he finished his explanation. She shot back, “You know your husband better than that, you dumbass! Of course he went out! Tell me you’ve at least tried calling him.”

“He left his phone,” Quentin sighed.

“Shit,” Margo said, shifting into planning mode right before his eyes. She asked, “How long ago did you get home?”

“A couple of hours,” he guessed.

She smacked his arm again, and he gave her a look.

“You waited _hours_ to tell me?” she demanded.

“You were in Fillory!” he yelled.

“I don’t care if I’m in fucking Australia!” she yelled back. “If Eliot’s in trouble, I need to know!”

The front door opened again then, and a very carefree looking Eliot waltzed through it.

“Pray tell, why am I in trouble now?” he asked.

They stared at him open-mouthed for approximately two seconds before Margo tackled him. He laughed as he lifted a free hand up to rub her back.

“Now, now. I wasn’t gone that long,” he said.

Quentin was still gaping at him. He had an armful of shopping bags in his other hand, and he had cut his hair. It looked strikingly similar to the cut he’d had when Quentin first met him at Brakebills, and he was clean shaven as well. He didn’t look bad by any means, but all of it only raised more questions than it answered.

“What happened?” Quentin asked. “When I got home, you were gone.”

Eliot stepped out of Margo’s embrace and heaved his shopping bags onto the kitchen table. 

“Yeah, sorry about that, I got lost,” he said, “and I forgot my phone.”

“You what?!” Quentin sputtered.

Eliot waved him off and said, “Don’t worry, I borrowed someone’s phone. I didn’t know your number, so I called Kenzie.”

The air in the room probably didn’t actually drop ten degrees in that moment, but that’s the way it felt to Quentin. He shot a look at Margo, who had frozen with a borderline horrified look on her face.

“You called Kenzie?” Quentin asked, needing to confirm what he’d just heard.

“Yeah,” Eliot shrugged. “We made a day of it. We went shopping and trimmed that atrocity I was calling hair. It was fun.”

Quentin looked at Margo again. Her eyes were like ice. He knew he needed to do something and fast.

“Well, uh, I’m glad you had a nice time,” he tried.

“You called that _bitch_ , Kenzie?” Margo demanded.

Quentin exhaled and placed his hands over his face. He should have known better than to try and stop this particular oncoming storm.

Eliot popped a hip to the side and tilted his head back to look at Margo.

“Yeah, she had a similar opinion of you, come to think of it,” he said. 

Quentin took a step to try and stand between them. He said, “Guys--”

“Oh, I’m sure she did,” Margo scoffed.

Well, he’d tried.

“Funny little thing,” Eliot continued, a look on his face letting Quentin know he was just getting started. “She said I dropped off the face of the Earth after college. I broke up with Daniel and just cut everyone out of my life. Apparently I had an internship on Broadway too, and I gave it up for some mysterious graduate program I’d never even mentioned before.”

This was spiralling fast, but it was like all Quentin could do was watch as Eliot barrelled on.

“Now, that doesn’t sound very much like me,” Eliot said, his voice edging into hysterical. “That sounds like something happened that neither of you are telling me, and I want answers for why I apparently gave up everything that mattered to me to work at a fucking library!”

Eliot looked between the two of them, a frantic, searching look in his eyes. Quentin dug his fingernails into his palms, turning to meet Margo’s waiting gaze. A whole conversation passed between the two of them until he nodded. She gave him a curt nod in return and stepped forward towards Eliot, who immediately backed away.

“Eliot, honey, there is something we haven’t told you,” she said, her voice significantly softer as she paused in front of him. “We were trying not to overwhelm you, but you’re right. You do need to know because it’s pretty fucking big.”

He looked between the two of them again, visibly calming down as he began to look more intrigued.

“Okay, I’m listening,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Um,” Quentin said, “I think we’d better sit down.”


	4. Chapter 4

The three of them were sat at the kitchen table, the tense atmosphere lingering over them like a heavy fog. Eliot was all suspicion, from his narrowed eyes to his folded arms to his foot tapping under the table impatiently. 

“You two do hear yourselves, correct?” he asked.

Quentin sighed.

“I know magic being real sounds kind of unbelievable, trust me,” he said. “Think about it seriously for a minute though, because I think deep down, you’ve always known.”

“I most certainly have not,” Eliot scoffed.

Margo groaned and placed her elbows on the table.

“You’re telling me that you’ve never made anything happen before that you couldn’t explain?” she asked.

“No, because I’m a normal person who doesn’t need fantastic tales of magic and metaphor to explain the world to me,” Eliot dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Quentin wondered idly if Eliot was aware of how pretentious he sounded. It was a sign of how in love he was that he found it endearing instead of as infuriating as Margo’s glare suggested she did. Still, it wasn’t helping them get to the point.

So Quentin said, “Logan Kinnear.”

The haughty look fell from Eliot’s face as his eyes shot over to him. Yeah, he’d thought that might do it.

“What about him?” Eliot asked.

“You, uh,” Quentin said, glancing to Margo for help but not seeing any recognition on her face. Maybe that was something Eliot had only told him. There was no time to worry about that though because it was maybe his only shot at getting through to him. He continued, “You told me during my first year at Brakebills that you caused a school bus to hit him. With your mind. That was how you found out you were telekinetic.”

An array of emotions danced across Eliot’s features as he weighed what he knew against what he was willing to give away. Quentin knew Eliot had never told anyone that before at the last point of his life he remembered. It showed on his face too, as his walls finally slid back into place like a bolt to a lock.

“That’s ridiculous,” Eliot said. “There was something wrong with the bus that hit him. It was an accident.”

“So you didn’t think about making that bus hit him right before it happened?” Quentin pressed, “And your nose didn’t bleed afterwards?”

There was a pregnant pause as Quentin and Margo watched him and he stared at Quentin. Then his face lit up, a flash of something shining in his eyes.

“Oh,” he said. “I see now.”

“You do?” Quentin asked hopefully, leaning forward.

“Yes,” Eliot said as he rose from the table. He started to reach for his shopping bags and looked away as he continued, “I married a crazy person.”

Quentin sat back into his chair and rolled his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping him.

“El,” he started.

He was cut off though because before he could even start a sentence, a sheet of ice shot across the table. It froze the dark wooden surface, turning it a bright white. The icy tendrils stretched all the way up to engulf Eliot’s bags and froze them in place. Eliot gasped and took several steps away until his back hit the counter.

“What the fuck?!” he shouted.

Quentin was gaping too as he turned his head to Margo, who was leaning back in her chair with a smug grin on her face.

“Cryomancy, bitches,” she said.

She turned to face Quentin’s bewildered stare and shrugged. She said, “What? Seeing is believing.”

They both looked back at Eliot. He looked, to put it mildly, terrified. Quentin rose from the table and slowly walked towards him. Eliot didn’t shy away, but he watched him like a deer caught in the headlights. Quentin stopped just a foot or so away, giving him some careful space.

“You’re a magician, Eliot,” he said gently. “We all are.”

Left without a choice, Eliot finally seemed to take the words in. He directed his gaze down to the iced over table and nodded his head lightly as he processed. 

“Okay,” he said, finally. “Okay.”

He turned around and started opening cabinets until he found their alcohol and began pulling out bottles. Quentin watched, a little amused, as he dug around until he found three glasses to set out on the counter.

“I don’t know about you two,” Eliot said, “but I’m going to need some hard liquor for the rest of this conversation.”

There was a short silence as Eliot prepared the drinks, and then a laugh bubbled out of Quentin’s chest. He turned to Margo, and she was smiling too. The relief they were both feeling was palpable. When he looked back at Eliot, there was a ghost of a grin on his face too. 

“Yeah, alright,” Quentin agreed. 

Eliot whipped around to face him again, still pouring a shot of rum with one hand, and said, “Oh and please, for the love of god, tell me I don’t actually work at a library because that would be a whole new low in light of this revelation.”

“No,” Quentin chuckled, “not exactly. You do work _with_ a library, that part was true, but you are definitely not employed by them. Your job is way more important than that.”

Eliot looked satisfied as he turned back to his cocktails. He asked, “So, what do I actually do then?”

“Uh,” Quentin said, looking back at Margo and getting no help. 

She gestured at Eliot and said, “Go on, Q. This is your nerd moment.”

He shot her a look before turning back. He said, “I think we’d better get started on those drinks first.”

Eliot just nodded at him, conceding the point, before passing him a fizzy looking concoction.

“Alright then, crash course in magic it is,” Eliot said.

They’d explained Brakebills and just about had Eliot convinced that Fillory, as in the fictional world from the children’s books Fillory and Further, really existed by the time they were all several drinks in and it was well past one in the morning. That was about as far as they got before calling it a night. 

Quentin was pulling down extra blankets from their linen closet in the hall when Margo walked past him on the way to her room, glancing between him and his and Eliot’s closed bedroom door.

“High King Eliot kick you out of his bedchambers?” she asked, her playful tone most likely due to the alcohol still in her system. 

Quentin gave a short laugh as he shut the door. He folded an old quilt under his arm and turned to her.

“It was just the easiest option,” he said, “and I don’t mind.”

Margo looked him over, a soft smile forming on her face.

“You’re really good to him,” she said.

Quentin scratched the back of his neck, feeling a little puzzled by her statement. He said, “Well, I love him, so.”

Margo gave him a look that almost could have been pity if it weren’t for the warmth still in her eyes. She replied, “Not everyone is good to the people they love. Not like you.”

There was a beat of silence while Quentin thought about what she said. Before he could say anything though, she reached out to squeeze his arm and said, “Goodnight, Q.”

He nodded at her and said, “Goodnight, Margo.”

The next day, they were off to Brakebills. Eliot had been reluctant to agree to a magical medical examination, but even he’d decided it was worth a shot considering the circumstances. It was maybe out of curiosity more than anything else, though he’d tried his best to seem nonchalant about it. If Quentin was being honest, he’d sort of really hoped that being there would trigger something in Eliot’s mind. If it did though, he didn’t show it. They emerged through the perimeter and onto the bright green grass, a stark contrast to the gloomy streets of New York they’d left. None of them had technically graduated, but Dean Fogg had given them alumni keys on principle after they basically saved the world. Multiple times. It was really the least he could do.

Despite the campus not triggering any memories for Eliot, his fascination was clear from the moment they stepped through the wards. The weather change alone was enough to shock anyone. Then there were the students in the courtyard practicing all sorts of spells, including one kid literally levitating in a clear attempt to learn how to fly. Quentin wasn’t watching them though. He was watching Eliot because Eliot was mesmerized by it all. By the time Quentin had met him, he’d already had the air of a seasoned magician. That made it almost delightful to see the raw emotion in his eyes as he realized how real it all was. Quentin felt the tiniest sense of deja vu as the three of them made their way across campus to the infirmary. It was like the tour Eliot and Margo had given him long ago, in another lifetime, when it had all been new and wonderful to him too. 

When they reached the infirmary, Professor Lipson looked up from her patient and waved them in, motioning them towards the empty bed by the windows as she carried on with the student in front of her. Quentin had called ahead and let the dean know they’d be coming, and it looked like he’d given Professor Lipson the heads up as well. The less explaining they had to do, the better, he supposed. Eliot followed them over to the place she’d indicated, but he walked past the bed to look out the windows.

“So, do you still think we’re crazy?” Quentin asked, unable to resist teasing him just a little.

Eliot turned around, looking like he was fighting back a smile. He said, “Well, if you’re crazy, then I guess I am too. I mean, this is…”

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Quentin took a seat by the bed while Margo and Eliot remained at the windows, watching the campus buzz outside. It was only a few minutes until Professor Lipson finished up with the student across the room and made her way over to them. 

“I have to say I wasn’t that surprised when Henry told me you were coming,” she said. “Your little group never could stay out of harm’s way.”

“Yeah, that sounds like us, alright,” Quentin agreed.

She smiled at him kindly before looking to Eliot.

“Please, have a seat, Eliot, and we’ll get started,” she said.

Eliot eyed her a little suspiciously as she laid out various items on a tray in front of her but did as she said anyway. He sat still on the foot of the infirmary bed as she circled him with various pieces of colored glass and mumbled to herself.

“Well, it’s not a curse,” she said, stopping to write on a small notebook.

“Uh, no,” Quentin said, “It was a regular car accident.”

She hummed as she stepped up to Eliot again with a handful of crystals in one hand and began feeling the air around his head with the other. Eliot raised an eyebrow at Quentin, and he just shrugged. He’d never pretended to understand anything the healing students were doing. To his credit, Eliot remained cooperative until she’d finished her examination.

“So, what’s the diagnosis, doc?” he asked.

She frowned as she stared down at her notes.

“Well, there are spells that can counter this sort of thing,” she said, “but I’m not sure they’d be helpful in your case, unfortunately. They usually remove any sort of magical warding preventing you from accessing the memories, which you don’t seem to have. It’s still possible we could retrieve them if they’re stored in your brain somewhere, but it’s very theoretical. So, I guess it’s up to you if you’d like to try.”

There was a tense moment when Eliot didn’t answer, and Quentin and Margo gave each other a worried glance. Quentin hadn’t really considered that Eliot might or might not trust what was essentially strangers to perform magical treatments on him. Then, Eliot glanced at them as well and nodded his head.

“I don’t see what it could hurt,” he shrugged.

Quentin exhaled as the tension left his body. At least they were going to try.

“Great!” Professor Lipson said, seeming pleased as well. “We don’t have enough staff on hand to start today, but I’ll set up a schedule for you and give you a call once I speak to my nurses.”

Quentin stood to shake her hand as she was leaving and said, “Thank you, Professor. Really.”

She smiled at him warmly. She said, “You’re welcome, Quentin. We at Brakebills owe a great deal to you and your friends. It’s really the least we could do.”

“Damn right,” Margo mumbled from where she was still sitting at Eliot’s side.

Quentin couldn’t help but grin as he nodded at the departing professor. When he turned back around, Eliot was still looking around the room like he just couldn’t believe where he was. It was endearing enough to override some of Quentin’s underlying worry. The nostalgia of it all prompted another longshot idea in his mind.

“Hey, uh, why don’t we give you a tour?” he asked.

Eliot looked interested, and Margo looked skeptical.

“You really want to go and mingle with the first years in the Cottage?” she asked.

Quentin shrugged. He said, “It was our home once. It might be good for him.”

Eliot cleared his throat, making them both suddenly remember he was still sitting there.

“I’m in,” he said.

Quentin smiled and turned to Margo, who rolled her eyes at him with a grin.

“Fine, let’s go see what they’ve done to our kingdom,” she sighed as she rose from her seat. 

To the credit of the current physical kids, the Cottage was largely unchanged, if maybe a little quieter. It was the middle of the day, so there were people milling about and students studying on the sofas. The tada sign was still gleaming on the wall, and the bar was as well stocked as ever. It felt a little like stepping back in time. Except for the students who were eyeing them curiously and whispering to each other in the corner. Because, oh yeah, they were sort of well known in the magical community.

“So, this is where we lived when we were at Brakebills,” Quentin explained, trying to ignore their lingering eyes.

Eliot was looking around with a sense of awe about him. If he noticed their audience, he didn’t show it.

“We threw the best damn parties this school has ever seen,” Margo added, pride clear in her voice.

“Please,” Eliot said, “They were undoubtedly the best parties anyone in this state has ever seen if I was hosting them.”

Margo was practically beaming as she grinned at him in response, and it made Quentin feel warm inside. Like he was that scared first year being taken in under their wing all over again. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he took one more look around the place and turned back to Eliot.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked.

“No,” Eliot said, a little less enthusiastically, “I’m sorry.”

Quentin gave him a half hearted smile and said, “It’s okay. It was worth a shot.”

They looked around a little bit more, wandering through the kitchens and the garden outside, before deciding it was time to be getting back. It was a quiet but definitely more pleasant trip back into the rainy cold city and to their apartment. Margo went straight to her room as soon as they stepped in, citing needing to check in with Fen as her excuse. Quentin dropped his keys onto the table and stopped in the kitchen. He set out on filling up the electric kettle and had grabbed two mugs from the cabinet for tea before he even realized what he was doing. 

He glanced behind him and noted that Eliot wasn’t paying a ton of attention to him though. He was leaning against the counter with his arms folded over his chest, his eyes roaming over their little shared space. So, Quentin finished up the tea, adding two sugars just like Eliot liked, and made his way over to lean next to him as he passed him a mug.

Eliot looked down at it in confusion for a moment before turning that same look to him.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Quentin replied. 

They gripped the hot mugs as they waited silently for them to cool. It was a comfortable silence, but Quentin was hyper aware of the electric current he could feel like a physical wall between them. He would only have to lean a few inches to the right to press himself against Eliot. It was that same magnetic pull that had always been there, even when they’d known each other for mere days back at Brakebills. Like something in the universe itself just meant for them to be at each other’s sides whatever the cost. Eliot wasn’t moving though, so Quentin pressed his back into the cool countertop to remind himself that this wasn’t back then. 

Eliot took a sip of his tea and cleared his throat.

“I still don’t remember anything about our lives together,” he said, looking down into his tea, “but for what it’s worth, I really want to.”

Quentin looked up at him. Eliot had a thoughtful look on his face, and when he turned to meet his gaze, there was a sad smile on his lips.

“You will,” Quentin promised. “We’re going to do whatever it takes.”

Eliot nodded gently before taking another sip of his tea. Then, like a magnet, he shifted slightly until his shoulder brushed Quentin’s.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I've been a disaster about updating this fic. If it's any consolation, my life has also been a disaster and that is why. I'll try to get my shit together and update sooner than a month from now this time!! Thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting! <3

The next afternoon found Eliot and Quentin finally able to have a quiet moment for the first time since everything had happened. They’d set up camp in the living room with Quentin cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, laptop and papers scattered across every flat surface, and Eliot stretched out across the couch in front of him doing whatever he was doing on his phone. Quentin had been fielding e-mails and phone calls from Julia all morning in exchange for her letting him work from home, and he’d also taken on her share of the paperwork to give her more time to deal with their clients in the office. So, he’d been wading knee deep in a manuscript that definitely was not going to be published when he heard Eliot laugh.

He glanced up, and Eliot was still looking down at his phone with a gleeful concentration as he typed away. He sat his pen down and watched until Eliot felt his stare.

“What?” he asked.

Quentin laughed and shook his head. He said, “Who could you possibly be texting?”

“Kenzie,” Eliot said.

“Ah,” Quentin hummed.

He reached for his pen again and started looking for where he’d left off. Frankly, he’d been so bored for the last hour that he probably couldn’t even give a good summary of what the manuscript was supposed to be about. Before he could dive back in though, he heard Eliot clear his throat. He lifted his head and saw Eliot looking at him expectantly.

“You’ve never met Kenzie, right?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah, that’s right,” Quentin agreed.

Eliot frowned.

He said, “It just feels weird that my husband doesn’t know my best friend.”

Quentin winced a bit at the term ‘best friend’ before he could catch himself. He was extremely grateful that Margo had gone out for the afternoon. She’d gone through their pantry that morning and declared it a state of emergency before sending herself out on a grocery run. It had been awhile since she’d spent a substantial amount of time in New York with them, and she tended to make herself very at home when she did. Quentin knew better than to interfere. Regardless, he was glad she wasn’t home for this particular conversation.

“You weren’t friends with her anymore when we met, El,” Quentin patiently explained.

Eliot placed his phone under his chin and stared across the room as he thought it over. He didn’t look angry by what Quentin had said but more like he just couldn’t comprehend it. Then his eyes shot down to his screen and he smiled as he responded to what was presumably another text.

“Well, anyway, she’s invited us out to dinner tonight,” he said.

Quentin blinked.

“Kenzie invited us for dinner?” he asked skeptically. “Like, you and me?”

“Yeah,” Eliot shrugged. “She agreed it’s weird that she doesn’t know my husband, so she wants to meet you.”

“Uh,” Quentin stammered. 

On the one hand, this was the fabled ex-bff that he’d really heard more about from Margo than Eliot himself. 

He and Margo had gotten drunk in Fillory one night when Eliot was off on some royal negotiation and started reminiscing, and she’d gone on a tangent about how much she hated Eliot’s former best friend while somehow managing not to tell Quentin why. Quentin had mostly nodded along and reassured Margo that she definitely sounded like a bitch because he knew by then that agreeing with a drunk Margo was generally beneficial for his physical health. 

When he’d brought the conversation up to Eliot later, Eliot had just laughed and said, “Ah, yes, I don’t mention She Who Shall Not Be Named in front of Bambi unless I have a lowkey death wish and several bottles of wine I’d like to get rid of.”

He’d honestly never given any thought to her after that conversation and definitely had not considered meeting her himself. Then on the other hand, he could definitely see that this was Eliot trying. Given that Quentin was essentially a stranger to him, he would have sort of understood if he’d fucked off with Kenzie or whoever and hadn’t bothered trying to include him at all. So, he kind of felt like he didn’t have any choice.

“Okay,” he said. “That sounds nice.”

Eliot smiled at him in answer, and he knew he’d made the right choice. 

“Great,” Eliot said, “I’ll tell her we’ll both be there.”

“Alright,” Quentin agreed.

The problem was, obviously, telling Margo about their evening plans. It’s not like Quentin _had_ to tell her, but well, he kind of did. That didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.

“I’m sorry, you’re fucking what?” 

And yeah, that was why.

Quentin sighed. He and Margo were sitting in her bedroom while Eliot showered so they could talk without being overheard. He’d had a whole plan about this conversation, as fruitless as it was.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sure you’re right about her or whatever, but this is important to Eliot so I feel like I have to go.”

Margo scoffed. She said, “Please, Eliot doesn’t know what’s important to Eliot right now. He’d agree with me if he were acting like himself.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not,” Quentin said, “and he’s trying here, so I am too.”

The look Margo gave him was still an unimpressed one, but the fire in her eyes dimmed just a little bit.

“Fine,” she said, resignation filling her voice. She leaned forward and stuck her index finger in Quentin’s face, which he only slightly flinched away from. She said, “You be fucking careful though, you hear me? And keep an eye on Eliot. That girl is bad news.”

He nodded tightly in response and tried for a reassuring smile, which only had Margo rolling her eyes at him.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” she added.

“Thanks, Margo,” he said.

It was as close to happy as she was going to get about it, so he counted it as a win. When the time came a few hours later for them to leave for the restaurant, he pretended not to notice her slipping away and locking herself in her room. He felt really guilty about Margo to be honest. Eliot was making an effort with him, but he’d hardly paid her any attention since that initial hospital visit. It was eating away at Quentin to watch Margo trying so hard to not seem affected by it. Still, he could only do his best in an impossible situation, and that’s what he kept telling himself as he slipped on his shoes to meet Eliot at the door. 

He knocked on Margo’s door on his way out and called, “We’re leaving! Text me if you need anything.”

He got a muffled sound of agreement in response, so he carried on down the hall. Eliot was dressed in a dark grey button down and pants and a black vest and looking extremely handsome when Quentin finally caught sight of him. It made Quentin’s breath catch in his throat still, after all this time. He pretended not to notice when Eliot gave him a once over too before looking up to meet his eyes.

“You look nice,” Eliot said, his voice sounding incredibly guarded.

“Thanks,” Quentin smiled. He said, “You do too.”

Eliot cleared his throat and reached for the door. He asked, “Shall we?”

They made their way to the place Kenzie had chosen, which was a very trendy looking tapas bar with loud pop music playing over the speakers at the perfect volume to be difficult to speak over. It made Quentin feel immediately uncomfortable. It wasn’t that he was a grumpy old man or anything, but, like, he was a 29 year old in a committed relationship and felt pretty far removed from the loud 20 something scene these days. He gave Eliot a reassuring smile though as they stepped inside. He was doing this for Eliot, not for himself. 

The hostess pointed them to a table along the wall, and he forced a smile on his face as Eliot half ran to hug the petite blonde woman who jumped up when she caught sight of them. 

“Eliot, you made it!” she squealed as he sat her down.

“I did,” he beamed, then turned to Quentin and added, “and I brought Quentin, as requested.”

Kenzie turned her gaze onto him then, and Quentin tugged at his jacket under the scrutiny of her stare. She looked him up and down before reaching out her hand.

“Oh yes, the man who got Eliot to the altar,” she said. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I have to say, I was skeptical that Eliot was just fucking with me when he told me he was married.”

Quentin bristled a bit at her tone, but he forced his face into a smile as he shook her hand.

He said, “Well, El’s changed a lot.”

“Hm,” she said, “he must have.”

Eliot cleared his throat beside them.

“I’m starving, what about you guys?” he asked.

“God yeah,” Kenzie agreed, “and I’ve heard this calamari is to die for.”

Once they’d ordered and settled a bit, Quentin started to get it. Kenzie’s appeal to Eliot, that is. She was a bright and bubbly person with a contagious laugh that had Quentin smiling even though he didn’t know half of what she and Eliot were talking about. They’d gotten through one round of drinks and somewhere along the way had stumbled into her telling Quentin embarrassing stories from Eliot’s mostly drunken freshman year when they’d met. 

She had that edge to her that let him know that she wasn’t to be fucked with, but he still couldn’t help but warm to her obvious affection towards Eliot. 

She was wiping away tears as she laughed her way through a story about the time Eliot took the wrong train home after a party.

“He called me the next morning,” she gasped, “from fucking Connecticut!”

“Jesus, Eliot,” Quentin laughed.

Eliot was doubled over beside Quentin in a fit of giggles.

“Oh god,” he said, “I was so drunk. I woke up on a bench inside the train station, and it took me an hour to figure out how to get back to New York.”

“It was a disaster,” Kenzie said fondly, “I almost gave up and drove to Hartford myself to get his hungover ass.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Eliot cooed.

She scoffed and said, “Please, I would have made you listen to Kesha the whole way back until you hated me and you know it.”

Eliot fake gagged, and she giggled.

“I really hope your music taste has improved since college,” he said.

“You know it hasn’t,” she replied.

They had just barely moved on to discussing Kenzie’s new job, a real estate agent, when her eyes lit up at something behind them and she stopped mid-sentence. She smiled widely and waved as if she were ushering someone over. Quentin and Eliot both turned their heads, and Quentin didn’t recognize the person heading their way, but Eliot froze stock-still beside him. It was enough to immediately send off warning bells in Quentin’s mind.

“Kenzie,” Eliot said lowly, “you didn’t tell me he was coming.”

The man had reached the table by that point, and Kenzie stood to wrap him in a hug before answering.

“Daniel was in town from Philly for work, and he and I got to talking about what happened with you. It just seemed like a good opportunity to catch up!” she explained brightly.

Quentin’s entire heart dropped into his stomach, and he felt like he was going to be sick. That’s why Eliot had frozen like he’d been shot. It was Daniel. Eliot’s ex-boyfriend who was sort of still his current boyfriend in his mind. Oh god. They’d really walked right into this, hadn’t they?

“Eliot,” Daniel smiled, “It’s great to see you.”

Eliot fidgeted with his napkin on his lap and stammered.

“Yeah, uh, you too,” he said, clearing his throat.

Daniel was tall, about the same height as Eliot probably, and had an accent that sounded vaguely South African or maybe Australian. He had lightly tanned skin and sandy blonde hair pushed back into a quiff. 

He turned his attention to Quentin and fixed him with a clearly put-on smile.

“And you must be Eliot’s husband,” he said.

Quentin gave his very own best diplomatic smile and replied, “That’s me.”

There was an awkward silence that followed while Daniel was still standing next to the table between Kenzie and Eliot, and Quentin just couldn’t take it anymore. He felt childish, but he needed to walk away for a minute. There was only so much one person could be expected to take, and this was decidedly his limit.

He scraped his chair across the floor as he stood, which got the attention of all three of them.

“I’m, uh, going to run to the restroom,” he explained.

Kenzie smiled and nodded at him, and Eliot just. Was still looking at Daniel. Like he was a ghost that had appeared in front of him. 

Instead of going to the bathroom, Quentin pushed through the crowded tables and the bar until he got to the door. He nodded to the hostess as he passed and stepped outside onto the street. He paced a few feet away into the cool evening air, reminding himself to breathe. What the _fuck_ was he supposed to do now? He counted the cracks in the sidewalk beneath his feet. There were exactly five in the space he’d chosen to pace, but none of them seemed to have any answers for him. So he sighed as he leaned against the brick wall and pulled out his phone. He felt a little pathetic over it, but he pulled up his favorites list and pressed Margo’s name without hesitation. It only rang once before she picked up.

“Who do I need to kill?” she said, in lieu of a greeting.

Quentin laughed, feeling relief flood through him like Margo’s voice had personally reached inside him and scooped out all of his panic. She kind of had this way of jumping into any situation that made it all seem more bearable, and he loved her for it.

“How do you feel about killing tall, handsome ex-boyfriends?” he asked sardonically.

There was silence for a moment. Then she said, “That fucking bitch.”

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed, rubbing his hand down his face.

“Hang on, I’m with Julia,” she explained, “I’m putting you on speaker.”

There was some shuffling and then Julia’s voice chimed in, “Are you okay, Q? What’s going on?”

He said, “I guess Kenzie invited Eliot’s ex.”

Julia gasped. She asked, “Did Eliot know?!”

“No,” Quentin said, “he seemed pretty shocked about it too.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” Margo said. “I should have known she’d pull something like this.”

“What are you two doing together anyway?” he asked.

“Girls’ night!” Julia crooned, sounding like she wasn’t particularly sober. “Kady’s busy with a hedge thing, and you and El were out so we’re getting high and watching The Bachelor.”

“Have fun with that, I guess,” Quentin snorted.

“This guy is so dumb, Q,” Julia groaned.

Quentin laughed as Margo scoffed, “He’s a man. Of course he’s dumb.”

“Getting back to the point,” Margo continued, “How’s Eliot? Is he with you right now?”

“I don’t know,” Quentin said. “I, uh, kind of bolted as soon as Daniel walked in. He’s still inside with him and Kenzie.”

“God,” she huffed, “I’m sorry, Q. You shouldn’t be dealing with this alone. Do you want me to come down there?”

He really kind of wanted to say yes, but he knew that wouldn’t actually help anything. He was going to have to suck it up and be an adult about this.

“No, I’ll handle it,” he replied. “I just needed to breathe for a minute.”

“You’ve got this, Q,” she said. “Don’t let their high gloss intimidate you. You’re a better person than both of them combined, and don’t think Eliot doesn’t see that even now.”

Quentin sighed as a taxi pulled up to the curb and watched a young couple get out and head inside the restaurant he’d just left. He wanted to believe Margo, but.

“You should have seen the way Eliot looked at him,” Quentin said, his voice sounding pathetic to even his ears.

“I’ve seen the way Eliot looks at you,” Margo countered. She said, “Daniel is a dick. You’re the love of Eliot’s life. And if you make me say one more sappy thing about this, I’m going to come down there and punch him myself.”

“Oh, I wanna go too!” Julia yelled, clearly several feet away from the phone by now.

Quentin laughed.

“Thanks, Margo,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she answered. “Now you go show that smug douchebag what’s up, and I’m going to go stop Julia from whatever she’s about to order on Uber Eats.”

“Okay,” he agreed, feeling a little better despite himself just from Margo’s reassurances.

“Bye, Q,” she said.

The line went dead, and he exhaled as he slid his phone back into his pocket. He’d been gone long enough to be suspicious, so he figured it was time to go back inside and get through this.

When he got back to the table, only Kenzie was sitting there. She was typing away at her phone and only looked up when he pulled out his chair across from her.

“Everything okay?” she asked brightly. “You were gone for awhile.”

“Yeah, sorry, I got a phone call,” Quentin said with a forced lightness.

He glanced to his left at Eliot’s spot and frowned at the amount of empty shot glasses that littered the table. 

“How much has Eliot had to drink?” he asked.

Kenzie laughed and shook her head without looking up from her phone.

“Beats me,” she said. “You know what he’s like.”

Quentin knew what Eliot _used to be_ like. He wasn’t like that anymore though. He hardly even got drunk these days except for special occasions, and he’d been working really hard over the last few years to get to a healthy place with his relationship to alcohol. He’d quit drinking altogether for the better part of a year after the monster in order to detox his body after all it had been through. It was sort of a big accomplishment for him to be where he was now.

“Uh, Kenzie, where is he?” Quentin asked.

He was starting to get worried, and he honestly just really needed to see Eliot at that moment to reassure himself that he was okay.

“At the bar, I think,” she said.

They both craned their heads around until they could see Eliot leaned forward, elbows on the bar, as he told the bartender his order. He had an easy, wide smile on his face that made it clear he was well past tipsy as he pointed at a bottle on the wall. Quentin rose to his feet and started to take a step towards him. It was definitely at the point of the night where Eliot needed someone to tell him to slow down, and he didn’t see that person being Kenzie. He paused though when someone else got to Eliot first. Daniel.

He watched it like it was in slow motion as Daniel slipped his arm around Eliot’s waist and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Eliot laughed and shrugged him off, and he brought his hand up to rest between Eliot’s shoulder blades. And Quentin just. Well, he wasn’t really a jealous person, but these were extenuating circumstances, and his blood kind of started to boil. It wasn’t even really rooted in possessiveness though, as much as that was a part of it because _he was wearing Eliot’s ring, damn it_. It was more that Eliot was drunk, and if Quentin didn’t know any better, he’d think Eliot was uncomfortable with the way he’d immediately tensed when Daniel touched him. All it took was for him to watch the way Eliot started nervously glancing over his shoulder to decide he had to do something.

“Well, that looks like trouble,” Kenzie said.

Quentin turned an unapologetically unimpressed glare towards her.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re really surprised too,” he snarked.

He pushed his way through the crowds and made it to the bar just in time to lock eyes with Eliot and see a flash of panic on his face as he took a step away from Daniel. He recovered quickly though and grinned at him.

“Quentin!” he said loudly, in that drunk joyful way he had.

He slung an arm around Quentin’s shoulders, but Quentin didn’t relax into his side. He looked up at Eliot quickly before directing his stare back at Daniel.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked.

Daniel flashed him a bright smile and said, “No, we’re all good here, right Eliot?” 

“I’m fantastic,” Eliot slurred, pressing heavier against Quentin’s side as he tried to lift his drink and stumbled sideways. 

Quentin turned his body towards him then and wrapped an arm around his waist to try and support his weight. He knew from way too much experience that a drunk Eliot tended to get very heavy when he had to be held up.

“I think it’s probably time for you to slow down on the drinks, hm?” he asked.

Eliot held his glass protectively just out of Quentin’s reach and pouted.

“But I just got this one,” he said, sounding every bit like a whiny toddler.

“I know,” Quentin reasoned, “but you’re pretty drunk, El.”

“Wow,” Daniel scoffed from in front of them, and Quentin had kind of forgotten he was there. He continued, “I never thought you’d marry such a killjoy, Eliot.”

Eliot slurred, “He’s not a killjoy, he’s a Quentin.”

Quentin rolled his eyes as he shifted under Eliot’s heavy arm. He moved them until Eliot was mostly sitting in a chair beside him and turned back to Daniel.

“Is there something you want to say to me?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” Daniel said, “but you have to understand, this is just very unlike Eliot. I’m having a hard time really processing this.”

Quentin bristled. He said, “Well, to be fair, you don’t really know Eliot, anymore, do you?”

Daniel took a step forward, and Quentin shifted just a bit, subtly placing himself between him and Eliot.

“Eliot doesn’t even know you anymore, does he?” Daniel sneered.

Quentin took a step forward then. He was mad enough that he was maybe just about to do something he would later regret, but Eliot grabbed his arm just as Kenzie appeared out of thin air between them.

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on here?” she asked.

Quentin maintained a solid few seconds of eye contact with Daniel as he walked backwards in the direction Eliot was tugging him.

“Nothing,” he said, “Eliot and I were just leaving.”

“So soon?” Kenzie asked.

Quentin busied himself getting Eliot to stand up and place the half empty drink glass on the bar.

“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” he said.

“We’re going hoooooome,” Eliot said in a singsong voice. He waved in a very exaggerated and uncoordinated way and slurred, “Byeee!”

Quentin grabbed Eliot’s hand and pulled him along as they brushed past Kenzie and Daniel. They made their way through the crowds and to the door with only minor difficulty on Eliot’s part, which was better than Quentin had honestly expected. He looked around until he spotted a bodega at the end of the block and dragged Eliot there to buy a bottle of water while he ordered an Uber. When they got into the backseat, he thrust the bottle into Eliot’s hands and said, “Drink this.”

Eliot took it from him and downed a good third of it before looking up again. He asked, “Are you mad at me, Quentin?”

Quentin shifted as he forced himself to let go of some of the tension he was holding. Whatever had happened with Daniel wasn’t Eliot’s fault. He needed to pull it together.

“No,” he sighed. “I’m not mad at you, El. Just. Drink that and sober up a bit.”

Quentin spent the rest of the car ride in silence while Eliot did as he was told. Never a quiet drunk, he also chatted endlessly with their Uber driver about any thought that entered his unfiltered brain. Quentin decided to leave him be and texted Margo a status update instead.

_Well, that could have gone better. On the way home now_

Margo texted back after a minute.

_Want me to come home? Julia’s so high rn she would probably kick his ass for you if I bring her lmao_

_Not yet, give us a little while_

She sent a thumbs up in reply.

The drive was long enough that Eliot was marginally calmer by the time they got home. Quentin still tipped the Uber driver well and gave him an instant 5 stars because he felt a little guilty about leaving him to entertain a drunk Eliot. Once they got inside, Eliot stopped to lean against the back of the sofa and watch while Quentin took off his shoes and threw his keys onto the table. 

“Quentin,” he started, “I swear I didn’t know that she’d invited Daniel.”

“I know you didn’t,” Quentin sighed. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re still upset though,” Eliot pointed out.

Quentin raised his hands into the air and let them fall down at his sides. He gave Eliot an exasperated look.

“I mean, yeah, I’m upset that your ex-boyfriend who you still love showed up unexpected and was all over you? Wouldn’t you be?” he asked.

“I would say ‘love’ is a strong word,” Eliot countered.

“Well, you were still dating him at the last point of your life that you have any memory of,” Quentin said.

“That’s true, but it’s been years, Quentin,” Eliot said, taking a step towards him. “We’re different people now, and besides, he’s moved on too.”

“Oh, that makes it all better,” Quentin scoffed.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Eliot said, sounding very tired now that the alcohol was wearing off.

“I just don’t get it,” Quentin said.

“Get what?” Eliot asked.

“Why you’re trying so hard to be nice to me about this?” he asked. “Why you give a shit about me when you could have Daniel or any other guy who would be better for you? You don’t even remember falling in love with me, El, what could I possibly have to offer you? I don’t need you to feel sorry for me if this isn’t what you want.”

Eliot was quiet for a moment. He stood still, barely a foot in front of him, and stared right into his eyes like he was searching them for the right words.

“Q,” he said slowly, and Quentin’s heart flipped a little at the nickname, “I may not remember meeting you or falling in love with you, but…. I don’t. I don’t know how much you know about my life before you, but it wasn’t always good.”

Quentin took a step forward and just barely stopped himself from reaching out.

“I know, El,” he said. 

“I don’t know if you really do, though,” Eliot interrupted him. “Maybe some older version of me told you about it, but me? I’m living it. I know what I’m like, the kind of person I am right now, at this point. And that’s why I know that I’ve never thought I’d have this kind of life.” He gestured around him at their apartment and at Quentin before continuing, “I never… I never thought it would happen for me.”

Quentin’s heart stuttered at the absolutely emotional look on Eliot’s face. He did reach out then and traced his fingertips across the back of Eliot’s hand. Eliot looked down at their hands before turning his over to lace their fingers together.

“I read the letter I wrote to you,” he admitted.

Quentin furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “What letter?”

“The one from our wedding night. I found it in the bedside table.”

“What were you doing in there?” Quentin asked.

Eliot shrugged, “It’s not snooping if it’s your own house.”

Quentin laughed, “I guess that’s fair.”

“Anyway,” Eliot said, “It kind of… scared me. I’ve never said those things to anyone before. And I may not _feel_ them right now exactly, but that still _means_ something to me. I can’t just…” he trailed off and paused before continuing in a small voice, “I think I owe it to my future self to not screw this up.”

Quentin stared at his chest, feeling a little too vulnerable to see what might be in his eyes at that moment.

“Okay,” he said.

He squeezed Eliot’s hand then and looked up to meet his careful gaze with a smile.

“Okay?” Eliot asked.

“I believe you,” Quentin said, “about why you’re trying. And, thank you, you know, for seeing that.”

Eliot looked at him for a long moment. He seemed like he was concentrating on something. Then he took a step forward and let go of Quentin’s hand to pull him into a hug instead. Quentin jumped a little in surprise before sighing and settling himself against Eliot’s chest. He shut his eyes and let himself just breathe him in as he felt Eliot’s arms tighten around him and his chin come to rest on the top of his head.

“I know this is really difficult,” Eliot said quietly, “but we’re going to figure it out. I think.”

Quentin smiled and pressed his forehead against Eliot’s chest.

“Yeah, we will,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even have a good excuse. Here you go!

“Go back to the part where you almost got in a bar fight,” Margo said.

Quentin gave her a look, and she grinned at him around her spoon as she took a bite of cereal. He rolled his eyes.

“That’s not really what happened,” he said.

She replied, “I know, but it’s way more fun for me to imagine you going all battle magician on his ass, so let me have this.”

Quentin scoffed, “I was not going to use battle magic on Daniel.”

“Well then, Daniel’s lucky you’re not me,” Margo said.

Quentin stabbed his spoon into his own cereal bowl, pushing it around more than trying to eat it. 

Without looking up, he said, “I didn’t say I didn’t want to punch him.”

“I knew it!” Margo said triumphantly, “I can’t believe I almost missed Baby Q’s first bar fight!”

Quentin laughed, and she grinned at him again, a bit softer this time.

“Seriously though,” she said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. It sounds like it was a shit show.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He sighed. “It could have been a lot worse, I think, if I hadn’t gotten Eliot out of there. He was so wasted, Margo. I haven’t seen him like that since…”

Neither of them needed him to fill in the blank to know he meant since before the monster. They didn’t talk about it much if they could help it, Eliot included. It had been long enough that they’d moved past the trauma but not long enough to erase the scars entirely. 

“This Eliot doesn’t know, Q,” she said in a softer tone. “It’s not like he was trying to go back to that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Quentin agreed. “Still scared me though.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

Quentin watched her as she pushed her half-empty cereal bowl away and reached for her phone. It was odd, this detached view she’d adopted about the whole thing. She’d been concerned about Quentin, sure, but her mostly laissez-faire attitude about Eliot’s current state was uncharacteristic of her at best. It almost made him wonder if he was the one overreacting, but he knew better than that. So it was something else. 

Maybe he’d been sort of zoned out while staring at her without realizing it because she suddenly sat her phone down on the table, making him jump, and looked at him.

“What?” she asked. “I can hear the gears grinding in your head from over here.”

Quentin looked down and said, “Sorry, I just. Have you talked to him?” 

“Eliot?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I’ve talked to him plenty,” she said.

Quentin frowned at her. He said, “Like, really talked to him.”

“Yeah, you were there,” she said.

“Margo,” he argued, “that was when he was still in the hospital. You haven’t talked to him since then?”

She shrugged, and he sighed, keeping his concerned look locked on her. She rolled her eyes and turned her gaze back down to her phone.

“Stop giving me that kicked puppy dog look,” she said. “I’m fine, Q. Did you expect us to, what, have a middle school sleepover and share all of our deepest darkest secrets or something?”

She waved him off dismissively, and before Quentin could even give her a look in response to that, she continued, “Eliot and I will be back to normal as soon as he remembers everything, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Well, that was the thing wasn’t it? In theory, it would all be fine once Eliot just remembered everything. In fact, if one viewed it like that, there really was no point to winning Eliot over now other than to keep him from doing something he’d regret in the meantime. Might as well just lock him in the apartment and wait it out. 

If you took a less optimistic view though… Quentin fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he tried to turn over the thought in his mind until he didn’t feel like it was ripping his heart out of his chest.

“But what if,” he said quietly, “what if he never remembers?”

Margo sat her phone down again. Slowly, she turned to Quentin, and a younger version of him would have been lowkey terrified by the look in her eyes because he’d obviously hit a nerve. This wasn’t his first time under the glare of a Margo who was five seconds away from biting his head off though, so he didn’t flinch.

“He’s going to remember,” she said.

“I hope so too,” he said, his voice still low and soft like he was approaching a wounded animal, “but it’s already been longer than the doctors hoped it would be. So, what if he doesn’t? This could be it, Margo. I just don’t want you to…”

“Don’t,” she pointed her finger at him. “Don’t say that.”

“God, Margo,” he said, his voice full of exasperation, “you know I don’t want that either! I’m just saying, we have to be realistic.”

“I am being realistic,” she argued, “and he’s going to remember.”

“Okay,” he said, switching tracks, “say he wakes up and remembers everything tomorrow. Wouldn’t you want him to know that both of us tried as hard as we could to take care of him when he needed us?”

There was a pause just long enough to make Quentin a little afraid of the look on her face.

“Q,” she said through gritted teeth, “consider your next words very carefully.”

“I’m just saying I’m worried about you,” he explained, “I know you miss him as much as I do, and well, he’s kind of right here?”

She stared at him for a moment, and Quentin watched as she exhaled and visibly let go of some of the tension that had consumed her. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, which she glanced at but did not try to move.

“I just think you should try to talk to him,” he explained. “That’s all.”

“It’s not like he’s tried to talk to me,” she pointed out.

Quentin said, “Yeah, I know. I’ve been meaning to bring that up.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” she said.

“I know you don’t,” he replied with a sigh, “but I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurting.”

She regarded him for a minute before her posture deflated, and she reached out to trace her fingers down his cheek. He leaned into the touch, and she smiled.

“Love you too, Q.”

The bedroom door opened behind them, and they turned to meet a bedraggled looking Eliot with a confused look on his face.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, a teasing tone in his sleepy voice.

Margo dropped her hand and Quentin laughed.

“Yeah, you just missed our heart to heart,” he said dryly.

“Ew,” Eliot frowned, “I’m sorry I asked.”

He proceeded into the kitchen, ruffling Quentin’s hair on his way past them. Margo raised an eyebrow at him, and he gave her a wide-eyed shrug as he turned to watch Eliot pilfer through the refrigerator. He was lifting up various items, grimacing, then abruptly setting them back down. Quentin watched, amused, for a minute before interfering.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

Eliot shut the door with a groan.

“Something to get rid of this hangover,” he grumbled. “Turns out I don’t have the alcohol tolerance of a 22 year old anymore.”

“You’re in luck then,” Margo said. She got up and walked over to him, pushing him out of the way to open the refrigerator herself. She said, “Future Eliot perfected the hangover cure after the Great Tequila Incident of 2015.”

Eliot leaned back against the counter to watch her fill up their blender with various items, a look of awe on his face. 

“Cheers to future me then,” he said.

When she was done with the blending, she did a quick tut to enchant the drink before handing it to him.

“Drink up,” she said.

He took a cautious sip and immediately turned to the sink to spit it out. Coughing, he turned to look at her.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked.

She grinned.

“Tastes like shit, but it works,” she shrugged.

He eyed the drink warily before taking another sip and scrunching up his face as it went down. Margo patted him on the back.

“Good boy,” she said.

Eliot raised a hand to flip her off as he continued to drink, which made both her and Quentin laugh in surprise. Quentin gave a pointed look to Margo, _what did I tell you? he’s right here_ , and she rolled her eyes at him. She looked less murdery though, so he counted his point as taken.

“Anyway,” Margo said, turning back to him, “I actually have to make a field trip to Fillory today. Fen sent a bunny this morning.”

“A bunny?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah, uh, better not to ask,” Quentin said. He turned to Margo. “What’s up in Fillory?”

“Nothing good I’m sure,” she said. “Fen’s stressed about some kind of trade negotiation. I think she really just wants me to scare a few delegates into submission, to be honest.”

“Kinky,” Eliot muttered.

Margo gave him a knowing smirk, and Quentin shook his head. He really preferred not to know how Margo got some of the things done in Fillory that she did. 

“It shouldn’t take long,” she explained, “maybe a day or two.”

“Well, we should be fine here,” Quentin said.

“Or we could go with.”

Both Quentin and Margo turned to give Eliot an incredulous look.

“ _You_ want to go to Fillory?” she asked.

Eliot said, “Why not?”

Margo and Quentin turned to look at each other. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. If Eliot wanted to go to Fillory, Quentin didn’t see what it could hurt. Fillory was a big part of his life, after all, so it might just be good for him to see it. Margo eyed him for a second longer before turning back to Eliot.

“Alright,” she said, “but you’d better finish that drink because you do not want to experience Fillory hungover. That shit does not mix well with all the opium.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” he asked.

Margo laughed and turned to go to her room instead of answering. Eliot watched her with a bewildered expression as she disappeared down the hall, then he turned back to Quentin.

Quentin said, “Yeah, uh, the air is partially made up of opium in Fillory. They left that bit out of the kids books.”

Eliot said, “Oh, we are definitely going to Fillory.”

He gave Quentin a cheeky grin, and Quentin shook his head and laughed.

Later, when they stepped through the portal and into Whitespire, Quentin was mostly watching Eliot. There’s a thing about watching someone experience something you love. It’s like you get to recapture just a tiny bit of that magic you felt the first time around as you watch them take it all in. Like seeing it through brand new eyes all over again. Fillory was no longer the exciting world of hope and adventure it had once been for Quentin, but for Eliot? It was written all over his face. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, looking around the throne room. “You weren’t joking.”

Margo and Quentin exchanged a grin. 

“Eliot, you’re back!”

The moment was immediately shattered when Fen rounded the corner and spotted them. She took about half a second to stare at them wide-eyed before launching herself into Eliot’s arms. He stumbled back a bit at the force of her embrace, looking over the top of her head at Margo and Quentin with a surprised question in his eyes.

Quentin cleared his throat, “Uh, Eliot, this is Fen. The other High King of Fillory.”

Fen took a step back then and stared at Eliot’s face. Then she turned to look at Quentin with a horrified look of understanding. He nodded once and gave her an encouraging smile. Nodding back at him quickly, she took a step back and straightened her crown.

She held out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eliot,” she said, an air of formality in her tone, which was immediately undermined as she carried on, “I mean, I already know you, but you don’t know me. So, it’s nice to introduce myself to you? I mean--”

Eliot cut her off by reaching out to shake her hand. 

“Oh,” she said, looking down at his hand in surprise.

He grinned at her, clear delight in his eyes, and brought her hand up to kiss the back of her knuckles with a slight bow.

“It’s lovely to meet you, High King Fen,” he said.

She beamed at him.

Margo rolled her eyes at them, but she was smiling too. She said, “Alright, quit flirting with my girlfriend. We’ve got work to do.”

Quentin watched with an amused expression as Eliot stared wide-eyed between them, and Fen walked over to press a kiss to Margo’s cheek. Given all the years that had passed, it was easy to forget about the tangled interpersonal relationships everyone in their friend group had, but it really was kind of hilarious in a very _what the fuck are our lives_ way. And Eliot didn’t even know that he had been married to Fen once upon a time.

“Right,” Fen said, turning to Margo. “The ambassador from Loria will be here soon, and we need to go over the trade agreement first. They’re asking for way too much, in my opinion.”

Margo tapped the tip of her nose with her finger, making Fen smile at her.

“Don’t worry, Bad Cop Margo is here now. Let’s go read the fine print and figure out how to stick it to them,” she said.

She took Fen’s hand and turned to look at the boys before leaving.

“Q, you good?” she asked.

He glanced at Eliot, who had taken to looking around the throne room again curiously. Quentin nodded at her.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” he said.

He stood back and watched as Eliot explored the room with curious eyes. It looked like he was taking in every detail, trying to memorize it in case it was a dream or something, and Quentin let him for a few quiet moments. Eliot stepped up to the two wooden thrones and ran his fingers along the top of one.

“So, Margo is king of all this,” he said.

“Yep,” Quentin said. Then he added, “We were once too.”

He might have been trying to blow Eliot’s mind a little bit, and it definitely worked judging by the look he turned toward Quentin.

“Yeah,” Quentin said smugly, “I got to crown you High King Eliot the Spectacular.”

Eliot had a strange look on his face as he took that in. Then he asked, “Do I want to ask what happened to end my reign?”

“Probably not,” Quentin said.

“Hm,” Eliot agreed. 

Quentin half expected him to push it, but he must have been just this side of too overwhelmed because he let it go. He chose, instead, to plop himself down onto Margo’s throne. Despite there being no crown on his head, he still looked every bit a king. He was older now than they’d all been when they stumbled into their royal titles. They all were. But Quentin had been right that day when he’d crowned him. He was High King in his blood, and it still made perfect sense.

He stepped up to the thrones and took a seat on Fen’s. Of the two of them, Fen was definitely less likely to yell at him for sitting on her throne, so he felt safe enough in the action. He gave Eliot a sidelong glance and found him looking out over the room thoughtfully.

“You were a good king, El,” he said.

Eliot looked down and frowned at his feet.

“I doubt that,” he said. He looked up at Quentin. “I’m sure you were though.”

Quentin gave a short laugh and looked back over the room.

“Yeah, not so much,” he said. “I wasn’t around very much. You and Margo were the real Fillorian dream team.”

Eliot didn’t look like he believed him, but he wasn’t exactly in a place to disagree. Instead, he said, “It’s just weird that I’ve lived this whole life that I have no memory of. There’s all this history I’m a part of, and I just don’t… know anything about it.”

He was right, but also, there was so much more to it than that, wasn’t there? It hadn’t really occurred to Quentin until they were sitting there in Whitespire just how much they’d lost by losing Eliot’s memory of the last eight years. Sure, it was their current lives, but it was also every shared experience they’d ever had. Brakebills? And Fillory? And… the mosaic? 

How could he even begin to tell Eliot that they’d spent fifty years together and raised a son? 

But then how could he carry those memories alone?

_Oh, God._

“You’ll get it all back,” Quentin said a bit desperately, ignoring how much he was reassuring himself.

“I know,” Eliot agreed, but he really didn’t know, did he? None of them knew. But God, Quentin hoped. In a less certain voice, Eliot continued, “And another thing, I know she’s probably trying and that this must be hard for everyone, but I’m having a hard time understanding… Margo.”

Quentin frowned at him. He asked, “What do you mean?”

“You, I get,” Eliot said, gesturing towards him. “Loathe as I am to admit it, you’re exactly my type.”

Quentin snorted, “Thanks?”

“Shut up,” Eliot said, though he was grinning. He continued, “It’s just, you keep saying she’s my best friend, but it doesn’t really feel that way. It almost feels like she’s avoiding me.”

And that just made Quentin’s heart ache. Eliot was a stranger in this world he’d woken up in, and though he’d handled it with all the grace you’d expect from Eliot Waugh so far, the cracks in the facade were there. At the bottom of it all, he was lost and trusting them with so much. It really wasn’t fair that he had to deal with them grieving the loss of him while he had no idea who he even was. Quentin felt an instinctual urge to reach out and wrap him in his arms, to try to protect him from all the unknown he was staring into. But he was part of that unknown himself, which was the problem, wasn’t it?

Instead, he said, “Margo loves you, El. She just… isn’t sure how to talk to you right now.”

“You are,” Eliot pointed out.

“God, no, I’m not,” Quentin laughed. He said, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Eliot nodded solemnly and looked down again.

“Thank you for trying anyway,” he said.

Quentin clenched his fists at his sides. He could barely hold himself back from reaching out then. He knew exactly what he’d do for his husband Eliot if he was wearing that sad, uncertain look. Not this Eliot though. So he didn’t wrap him in a hug or kiss the top of his head. He just stared at him for a few seconds before making a decision. He stood up.

“How would you like a tour of your castle?” he asked.

Eliot perked up then and gave him a bright smile. So, Quentin held out his hand. Eliot took it and allowed Quentin to pull him up from the throne.

“Lead the way, former King Quentin,” he said.

The tour was a good idea, but it ended up being cut short when the Lorian delegates arrived ahead of schedule and Margo all but threw them out of the castle. It wasn’t that they weren’t allowed in the throne room during such negotiations because both of them were actually respected members of the royal cabinet. However, no one felt much like explaining why Eliot wasn’t acting like himself. Plus, Loria was still barely an ally, and they didn’t need to see a sign of weakness in the Fillorian royal council. So, Quentin and Eliot conveniently disappeared to the gardens instead.

It was a nice spring day out, or at least that’s what it felt like. Seasons were a whole thing in Fillory. Regardless, it was comfortably warm as they were walking amongst a row of what would pass for marigolds on Earth. This part of the garden was one of Fen’s pet projects. Margo didn’t waste a lot of time thinking about the aesthetics of the palace grounds, but Josh had helped Fen enchant the rows of bright flowers so that they were basically unkillable. Quentin had to admit it added a certain beauty to the grounds. 

“I’ve never been kicked out of a castle before,” Eliot mused.

Quentin laughed, “You most definitely have.”

“Oh, right, I forgot I was overthrown,” Eliot said. “I’m picturing it violently.”

“I wasn’t there, so I can’t be certain,” Quentin allowed, “but they did try to execute you and Margo by sending you over a waterfall, so.”

Eliot gaped at him.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

“It’s Fillory,” Quentin shrugged. “There were fairies involved.”

Eliot gave him an even more confused look, and he burst out laughing. He bumped his shoulder against Eliot’s arm and pointed ahead of them.

“Come on, I’ll show you the vegetable garden you taught them how to grow without magic,” he said.

Eliot laughed, “You are full of surprises, Quentin.”

By the time they’d made the rounds in the garden, it was beginning to get dark, so they decided to head back inside. Upon entering the castle, a bellowing laughter could be heard from the throne room. It wasn’t anyone he recognized, so Quentin figured that meant the negotiation with the Lorian council was still ongoing. He turned to Eliot and lifted a finger to his lips, letting him know that they were going to have to sneak past the throne room. Eliot nodded at him, and Quentin tried to walk lightly as they approached. He could see Margo staring down a delegate with a very tight-lipped smile, which meant that this was nowhere near finished and they’d likely be staying the night. Oh well, a little vacation wouldn’t hurt any of them. 

They had nearly made it through the danger zone, which was all well and good, until Eliot tripped and knocked over a decorative planter a few feet away from the throne room entrance. The negotiation fell silent, and Margo’s eyes shot up and locked in on Quentin with a look that said _pure murder_.

“Shit, go!” he said, pushing Eliot along down the hallway. 

Luckily, they got out of sight before anyone else in the room spotted them, and as soon as they’d made it safely around the corner, they collapsed against a wall. There was a moment of silence, then Quentin took one look at Eliot and they both immediately burst into a fit of giggles.

“Shh,” Quentin whispered, though he was laughing just as hard himself, “if Margo hears us, she’s going to kill us!”

Eliot turned sideways so that he could bury his face in Quentin’s shoulder, and Quentin could feel him shaking with laughter. He let his head fall over onto the top of Eliot’s as he tried to stifle his own giggles. If anyone had seen them in that moment, they would have no doubt looked ridiculous. Quentin felt ridiculous, giggling like school children in the hallways of Castle Whitespire. It felt nice too though. Normal, for once.

It took them a minute to catch their breath. It really wasn’t that funny, but everytime Quentin pictured the look on Margo’s face, he’d start in again. Eliot was no better, but he eventually settled down as well. 

By the time they’d found some semblance of chill, they were draped half on top of each other pressed up against the cool stone wall of the hallway. Quentin hadn’t really been paying attention to that fact seconds before, but well, it became obvious when they’d stopped laughing and Eliot was still leaning heavily against him with his face buried up against his neck.

The hushed moment fell over both of them, and neither of them moved at first. Quentin could feel Eliot’s hot breath against his skin, and well, he was only human. His hand was gripping Eliot’s bicep still, and he slid it down until it was sitting at his wrist instead. Seeming to take that as a cue, Eliot moved back a step. He didn’t move away completely though, just enough so that he now sort of had Quentin backed up against the wall.

Eliot slowly brought his other hand up to Quentin’s face, letting his fingers trace along his cheekbone, and Quentin felt frozen. He didn’t move, didn’t even _breathe_ as Eliot searched his eyes. There was a moment where he wasn’t sure what was going to happen. 

Then Eliot kissed him.

It wasn’t that kissing Eliot was, like, a new thing for Quentin. They’d done plenty of kissing over the last several years. It had been a little while since the accident, though, and Quentin hadn’t been allowed to kiss him or to touch him like this.

And he _missed_ Eliot.

So, he checked pretty much every reservation at the door. 

Eliot pulled his hand free from Quentin's loose grip and wrapped it around his waist to draw him in close, and he practically whined at the contact.

“Shh,” Eliot whispered against his lips.

His hands found their way to Eliot’s hips, and he gripped the fabric of his shirt as Eliot crowded up against him. God, he’d never get tired of kissing Eliot. Never. Quentin hadn’t really known until Eliot just how much he liked to be kissed, but it was just a fundamental detail he knew about himself now. His name was Quentin, and he loved kissing Eliot. 

He arched his back against the stone wall on instinct, and Eliot dug his fingers into his hair, tipping his head back to kiss him more deeply. When they eventually parted, they were both breathing heavily.

“We’ve got to have a bedroom around here somewhere,” Eliot whispered.

Quentin nodded, “Uh huh.”

In fact, they shared the former High King’s suite when they stayed in Fillory because Eliot had refused to give it up to Margo and Fen despite losing his title. And luckily for them, it was very nearby.

Quentin pulled Eliot through the door by the hand, and it flew shut behind them without either of them touching it as soon as they’d entered the room. Quentin paused to look at the door then back at Eliot.

“Did you do that?” he asked.

“I… don’t know,” Eliot said.

If Eliot had used his telekinesis, that meant he still knew how to do magic somewhere in his mind. Or that he was remembering how to do magic.

Quentin reached up on tiptoes and kissed him again.

This time, it was Quentin who had Eliot pinned against the heavy wooden door. He gripped Eliot’s vest in his hands, using it as leverage to pull him down to his height. Eliot acquiesced easily and slipped one hand around the back of his neck. The other was tracing its way down his spine. Quentin sighed as Eliot bit at his lower lip.

All his brain could process was _closer, more, please_.

He gasped and opened his eyes as Eliot came up for air, moving instead to trace his lips along Quentin’s jaw. His hands came to the front of Quentin’s shirt, and he started fumbling with the buttons. Maybe it was that change of pace that did it, but Quentin very suddenly found himself aware of exactly where they were and what they were doing.

He took a quick step back and pushed Eliot off of him. The look Eliot gave him was practically bereft. 

“This,” he breathed, “is a bad idea.”

“I’m failing to see how,” Eliot replied from where he was leaned against the door, clearly just as wrecked as Quentin was.

He took a step forward, and Quentin pressed a hand to his chest to stop him. God, it was taking every inch of willpower he possessed to say no to Eliot right now.

“If we do this, now,” he said, “it won’t mean the same thing to you as it does to me.”

Eliot stayed where he was, but he said, “Q, we’re married. I think we’re past the labels by now.”

Quentin laughed, feeling borderline hysterical, and pulled his hand back to run his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, we’re married, but what do you really know about me? What’s my favorite color? My father’s name?” he challenged.

“Does that really matter?” Eliot asked.

“Yes, it does to me,” Quentin said, “because right now I’m just an idea to you, and that...”

Well, it was painful is what it was. 

Eliot stared at him for a moment, some sort of complicated emotion playing out on his face. Then he settled on a smile and slowly walked forward until they were just inches apart again. He placed his hand on Quentin’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Okay, so let me get to know you,” he said softly. “Let’s go on a date.”

Quentin smirked. 

“A date?” he asked.

Eliot nodded. He said, “Yes, a date.”

Quentin considered him for a moment. Eliot was watching him with this devastatingly hopeful look on his face, waiting for an answer. Honestly, what was Quentin going to do with this impossible man? He knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t going to survive saying no to him a second time in one night. 

So, he said, “Okay.”

Eliot beamed at him and said, “Great!”

He turned around and opened the bedroom door, gesturing to the hallway outside.

“Off you go then, because I don’t spoon before the first date,” he said.

He was giving Quentin a shit-eating grin, and Quentin shook his head at him in disbelief.

“Really? You’re kicking me out of my own room? You were trying to seduce me thirty seconds ago,” he pointed out.

Eliot shrugged, “I was perfectly happy to have you stay here tonight, but you wanted to _get to know each other first_ , so.”

Quentin said, “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“Yes, I’ve been told that before,” Eliot agreed.

He walked past Eliot to go find his old bedroom in the castle, and Eliot stopped him in the doorway by grabbing his wrist. He looked up, and Eliot leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Quentin,” he said.

Quentin shook his head and grinned.

“Goodnight, El.”

He laughed in disbelief as the door shut behind him, leaving him alone in the cold hallway. A first date with his husband. There were worse ways this could be working out, he supposed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween/Blessed Samhain!
> 
> Also, minor warning for a bit of car accident related PTSD in this chapter. Take care!

In the end, their date had to wait because they ended up spending another full day in Fillory, mostly hiding out in various parts of the castle and not getting in the way of Margo’s warpath. The energy between them had definitely shifted after the night before though. He couldn’t be sure if anyone else noticed the way Eliot’s hand lingered on his arm as he brushed by him in the library or the way Quentin was practically crawling out of his skin every time Eliot so much as looked at him. It felt like there was a giant spotlight pointing out every minute expression on his face. But then, perhaps he was just a little more invested in Eliot’s every move than anyone else had a reason to be because even though his world had shifted, the daily routines of the castle drummed on around them. 

They were never really alone either, which Quentin couldn’t decide if he was grateful for or irritated about. They got to catch up with Fen at least, which was always nice, and later Josh, which was always weird. Eliot seemed happy enough to chat with them though, so it was fine. 

It was late in the evening by the time Margo declared they were done and going back to New York. She might have stayed behind and gotten more involved in Fillorian affairs, but Eliot had his first treatment with Professor Lipson the next afternoon, and Margo had taken it upon herself to escort him there. 

Eliot gave Quentin a side eye about it as they left for Brakebills the next day, but Quentin was secretly pleased. Margo hadn’t exactly told him that he couldn’t come, but he’d read between the lines. If she wanted time alone with Eliot, then he wasn’t going to get in the way of what he’d practically begged her to do.

So, he let them go ahead to Brakebills, and he went to see Julia for lunch instead.

That plan wasn’t without its own challenges. Being back at the penthouse was never not going to be weird for him. It was the whole reason he and Eliot had pretty much immediately moved out and found their own place once they’d started seriously pursuing a relationship. The whole place felt haunted. Like a monument to a terrible period of time he’d honestly rather just not think about. However, he could admit it was objectively a nice apartment, and Kady and Julia had made it very much their own as the only current residents. Even so, he probably still would have never stepped foot inside the place again if it wasn't for Julia.

“So, how is he?” Kady asked.

Quentin shrugged and sat down his sandwich.

“He’s doing fine, considering,” he said. “We went to Fillory yesterday, and he and Margo are at Brakebills today to start working with Professor Lipson.”

Julia said, “I just can’t imagine waking up one day and not remembering anything about my life.”

“Seriously,” Kady agreed, “I’m surprised he’s handling all of this without freaking the fuck out. Can he still do any magic?”

“Working theory is yes?” Quentin said uncertainly. “He accidentally used his telekinesis at the castle, which was new.”

“What? That’s great, Q!” Julia said, a smile lighting up her face.

He felt his face wrinkle up in a frown as he remembered Eliot’s surprised expression when Quentin had pointed out what he’d done.

He said, “He doesn’t know how he did it, so I’m not sure it really counts as progress.”

Julia reached over to squeeze his arm.

“Well, it’s a start, right?” she asked him.

“Yeah, it’s a start,” he conceded.

After spending the rest of lunch filling him in on the latest hedge drama with Marina’s new coven, Kady rose from the kitchen bar first. She pointed to Quentin’s empty plate when she stood, and he passed it to her.

“Thanks,” he said.

She gave him a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement in response and proceeded to stack the dishes into the sink. When she came back, she grabbed her leather jacket off the back of her chair and slipped it on.

“I’ve got to go meet Alice,” she said as she shoved her keys into her jacket pocket. “Weekly Library meeting.”

She didn’t sound particularly excited about it, and Quentin knew she wasn’t a fan of the close monitoring of the hedges the Library had insisted upon. Alice was trying to liaison though, and the weekly meetings was the compromise they’d reached for the hedges to have unlimited magic access. It was better that Alice was involved than Zelda or any of the other librarians, which Kady knew.

“Tell her I say hi,” Quentin said.

Kady hummed her agreement and stopped to kiss Julia on the cheek.

“Tell Waugh I hope he gets better soon,” she said.

“You know our names are Coldwater-Waugh now, right?” he asked. “It’s literally been a year.”

She grinned, “Oh, I know, and I’m still not saying all that. It’s too long.”

“It’s the same amount of syllables as Orloff-Diaz,” he pointed out to her back as she headed toward the door.

She held her hand up above her head to flip him off without turning around, and he and Julia laughed as she exited the apartment.

Quentin scrolled his Twitter feed while Julia finished her lunch in silence, which lasted approximately 2 minutes before she pushed her plate away and turned a dimpled grin on him.

“What?” he asked, setting his phone down.

She shrugged, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

He sighed and stared at her, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jules had this irritating ability to read him like a book that was more childhood best friend based than it had anything to do with her being a somewhat demigoddess. There was no point in fighting it.

“You know I hate this game,” he said.

She grinned wider at him and said, “I know, and yet you keep playing it. So, spill whatever you’re not telling me.”

He leaned back in his chair, looking out the window. He’d sort of missed the view from the penthouse if he was honest.

He said, “So, Eliot, uh, kissed me when we were in Fillory.”

Julia punched his arm, a bit too forcefully in his opinion, and he looked back at her.

“Ow?”

“Shut up!” Julia said. “Why am I just now hearing about this?!”

“I don’t know, because we just got back from Fillory like 12 hours ago?” he asked.

He tried to maintain a straight face but honestly failed within five seconds of looking at Julia’s excited expression. He broke into a smile, and she nudged him again more gently.

“Tell me everything,” she said eagerly. 

He leaned forward in his chair to place his elbows on the table and met her eyes. 

“You know we’re not gossipy teens anymore, right?” he asked. “Eliot is literally my husband, not a high school crush.”

“Q,” she whined, “you’re deflecting. This is different, and you know it. Do you think he’s starting to remember?”

“I’m not sure that’s it,” Quentin said, settling in to give into her nosy demands. He said, “We were goofing off in the castle, and it just happened. I mean, we were just caught up in the moment and shit.”

“Okay, that sounds like there’s more,” she pressed.

He laughed and rolled his eyes. He said, “Yeah, okay, things got a little heated, but I stopped it because--”

“Because you wanted it to mean something,” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

She reached out and placed her hand over his, and he squeezed her fingers. He met her sympathetic look with a tight smile before glancing down at the table between them.

“Eliot was good about it though,” he said, “so good that we actually have a date tonight.”

She withdrew her hand from his and used it to smack his arm again.

“What?!” he asked, but he was laughing because he might have been holding that part out to wind her up.

“You know what, you dick,” she said, her face lit up in a faux offended grin. 

“Yeah, I do,” he allowed.

She shook her head at him, smiling all the while, and sat back in her chair.

“So, are you nervous? Excited?” she asked.

“Both?” he laughed. “I mean, it’s Eliot, so I’m not freaked out about it or anything, but it could also be the thing that triggers his memories, you know?”

“I hope it is,” she said, “but just be careful, okay? I know this is a great thing, but I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and get hurt if all that happens is a really good first date for Eliot.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. 

He did know, unfortunately. He was, of course, thrilled that Eliot wanted to get to know him and maybe more importantly, that he _wanted_ him. It was, like, so fucking relieving that Eliot was even giving him the time of day at all, much less romantically interested in him. The catch was always there though. At the end of the day, it could end up meaning absolutely nothing. Or, it could be the start of everything. Going down this road with this Eliot was risky, but it was infinitely better than the alternative, and if Quentin had a little bit of hope? Well, it would only be his own fault if he was disappointed.

He glanced down at his phone and clicked the lock button to see the time. A blurry selfie of him smiling while Eliot kissed his cheek greeted him on his lockscreen, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Anyway,” he said, “I better get going. Margo and Eliot should be home soon.”

He was almost as eager to hear how the first treatment with Professor Lipson went as he was about their date, which was just a testament to the insanity that their lives had become. It’d been awhile since they were dealing with the disaster of the week, and he had to admit he hadn’t missed it.

Julia stood up to meet him and wrapped him in a tight hug. He gave her a squeeze in return, and she sighed.

“Love you, Q,” she said.

“You too,” he mumbled into her hair.

When she stepped back, she gave him a soft look before brushing a lock of his hair back behind his ear.

“Have fun tonight,” she said, a cheeky grin slipping onto her face.

He gave her a short laugh and shook his head. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said.

Eliot and Margo were already back by the time he got home. When he walked through the door, it was to the sound of Margo squealing and clapping her hands from the living room. Grinning to himself curiously, he set down his keys and kicked off his shoes to go investigate. When he rounded the corner, he was met with an excited, “Quentin! You have perfect timing. Come look!”

Margo turned to him with a grin and said, “Eliot learned a new trick today.”

“What?” he asked.

A smile was already making its way onto his face because Eliot and Margo’s happiness was just that contagious. It always had been. They’d pulled him right into their orbit with it from the start, and he’d been helpless to escape since. Seeing it in action now warmed his heart all the more. 

He paused to watch as Eliot’s face took on a focused expression. He held his hands out in front of him and began a very precise and practiced tut.

Quentin turned quickly to Margo, who was grinning at him.

“Is he…?” he asked.

She nodded.

He looked back to Eliot just in time to see him complete the spell and send a burst of green and blue fireworks into the air above their heads. Little shards of bright green light reflected in his hazel eyes, and the smile on his face was nothing short of wonder. When the lights fizzled out, he looked slowly back to Quentin.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“El, that’s…” he trailed off, losing his words to describe exactly what that was. It was making him feel some kind of complicated emotion he couldn’t pin down. Eliot was smiling at him though, his eyes alight with pride, so he thought maybe Eliot somehow knew what he was feeling.

“It’s fucking amazing is what it is,” Margo helpfully finished for him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, a little breathless.

Eliot looked down at his hands, flexing them and shaking them out. He said, “I didn’t expect it to feel so…”

“Magical?” Quentin supplied.

“Powerful,” Eliot countered. 

Eliot’s magic had always been different to Quentin’s in that way. He knew from the times they’d done cooperative magic and he’d felt it for himself. Quentin’s magic felt like this wild, untamed thing lighting him up from the inside like it could take over completely at any given moment. It was exhilarating. Eliot was in control of his magic though, down to the last drop. Maybe it had to do with his telekinesis and all the focus it required or maybe it was just something inherently _Eliot_. Regardless, it was like he was commanding the storm and not the other way around. It had always amazed Quentin to watch. 

“How did you learn to do that?” he asked.

Margo stepped to Eliot’s side and leaned into his arm, looking up at him proudly.

“Sunderland was curious what he could still do without remembering his training, so she taught him a basic spell today,” she explained. “She’s on a whole nature versus nurture kick about it now.”

“Yes, it’s all very philosophically profound,” Eliot agreed bemusedly.

Quentin asked, “So, what about Lipson’s treatment? How did that go?”

Eliot shrugged.

“Fuck if I know what they were doing,” he said.

Margo shot him a half-hearted glare before looking back to Quentin. She explained, “Lipson is trying some kind of locator spell on his mind to see if she can find one specific memory that Eliot's lost. She thinks if she can find one memory, she’ll be able to work backwards from there and figure out a way to retrieve them all.”

Quentin frowned, “Not even a neurologist could tell you exactly where the brain stores every single lost memory. That’d be like, finding a cure for Alzheimer’s.”

“Exactly,” Margo said. “So, you can see what we’re working with here. Anyway, we’re going back tomorrow so she can see if the locator spell worked.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess,” Quentin said.

“Yes, it is,” Eliot hummed, seeming rather distracted considering it was his memory loss they were discussing.

His distracted gaze settled on Quentin, and he took a step forward into his space seemingly out of nowhere. Quentin caught a look from Margo but pretty much immediately stopped thinking about her as Eliot reached out to tug on the collar of his shirt. He looked down and then back up at Eliot’s face in confusion as he started adjusting it like it was somehow vitally important. 

“Sorry, that’s been bugging me,” Eliot explained.

Quentin held as still as he possibly could until Eliot’s fingers brushed along the skin of his neck, and then he felt himself shiver. The little upturn in Eliot’s lips in response was so quick he could have imagined it, but he knew better than that. 

Seemingly happy with his work, Eliot smiled at him before stepping back again.

“There, much better. Anyway, I’m off to shower now,” he said airily.

Quentin’s eyes tracked every movement as he sauntered off down the hallway and into their bedroom until he closed the door. When he turned back around, it was to Margo staring at him with her arms crossed over her chest and a knowing look on her face.

“Something you wanna tell me?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he replied, feigning an innocence that clearly was not working judging by Margo’s unimpressed stare.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled, “I just thought you might know something about why Eliot was questioning me about your favorite restaurants earlier. Or whatever the fuck that was just now.”

A warm feeling Quentin had no control over whatsoever spread through his chest, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to not let it just completely take over his face.

“Uh, we’re kind of going out tonight,” he said.

Margo said, “Okay, so like, just as friends or…?”

He sighed and looked at her, and she grinned.

“Q,” she said seriously, though she was biting back a smile, “I have a question for you.”

He crossed his arms and shook his head at her, willing her to go on. Not that he could have stopped her anyways. She took a step toward him, her face still doing that thing that said she was definitely making fun of him.

“Do you really think that I didn’t follow you and Eliot to tell you off for interrupting my negotiation?” she asked. 

He froze, and she smiled at him like he was prey caught directly in her crosshairs.

“Yeah, I saw you two making out like horny teenagers in my castle,” she said, “so don’t try that nonchalant bullshit with me.”

Quentin sighed. “It’s not like that,” he said, “Eliot wanted to get to know me better, so we’re going on a date. No big deal.”

“Look, I’m happy for you,” she said, and it came out mostly genuine, “but just be careful, alright? We both know what Eliot’s dating life was like in his early twenties.”

“Yeah, you don’t need to remind me,” Quentin mumbled.

“I’m just saying, if you wanna fuck him, that’s fine,” she said, “but--”

Quentin turned around and said, “Oh my god, Margo. This conversation is over.”

Margo cackled behind him, her laugh ringing throughout the apartment.

“Just remember what I said!” she called.

“Uh huh!” he replied, making his way back to the kitchen.

It was a couple of hours later when they’d both showered and dressed for the evening that Eliot and Quentin left the apartment. Margo had politely not commented when they’d told her goodbye except for a quick, “Have fun, boys.”

Honestly, Quentin knew in his core that she meant well, but he still was grateful to escape without another lecture on the perils of having sex with his husband. No one had even said that would be happening tonight anyway. It was just a date. They were just going out so that Eliot could get to know him better, and they were going to have a nice time.

Eliot, it turns out, actually had gotten advice from Margo for the evening. He hailed a cab and gave the driver the address to Quentin’s favorite Mexican restaurant in Brooklyn.

“I hope that’s okay?” he asked, turning to Quentin.

“It’s perfect,” Quentin reassured him.

They settled into the car ride and the stop and start of traffic, but it was only about ten minutes before Quentin noticed it. The prickling feeling of anxiety under his skin. It’s just, it was all way too familiar given recent events. He knew, logically, that the statistical likelihood of them getting into another accident was incredibly small. Being in a cab with Eliot by his side though, just like that night, his brain couldn’t seem to tell the difference. He dug his fingernails into his palms, willing himself to focus on the sensation and not to think about shattered glass, squealing tires, Eliot not waking up…

“Hey, Q, what’s up?” Eliot asked.

He reached over and gently pried one of Quentin's hands open until he could slip his fingers between them. Eliot gave his hand a little squeeze, and Quentin came back to his senses.

“Uh, nothing,” he said. 

He attempted a confident smile, but Eliot was still giving him a look of concern.

“I was just reminded of the accident, that’s all,” he said, trying to brush it off.

Eliot stared him down for a minute before patting his hand and leaning forward between the seats again.

“Hey, we’re only a few blocks away now, so you can drop us off here.”

“What?” Quentin asked, “no, it’s fine, Eliot. I can--”

“Q, there’s no need,” he said reassuringly. “We can walk the rest of the way and be there in ten minutes.”

The car pulled over to the curb, and Quentin exhaled a sigh of relief, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. Eliot gestured at him to lead the way out onto the sidewalk, and he did while Eliot paid the cab driver. He felt stupid. It wasn’t like he could just go the rest of his life without getting in a car. People ride in cabs every day, and it’s not like everyone on the road was terrified all the time. Plenty of them had probably been in accidents before too. 

Eliot’s hand came to rest on the small of his back, and his thoughts stilled.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Quentin smiled.

They started walking, and Eliot reached for his hand again. Quentin laced their fingers together and held on as they brushed through a crowd of obvious tourists stopped with cameras pointed upwards at some graffiti. When they came out on the other side and it was quieter again, Quentin sighed. He could practically feel his heart calming down with the fresh air and the feel of Eliot’s hand grounding him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think,” Eliot said.

Quentin turned to him and gave him a small smile. He said, “You don’t remember the accident, El. I wouldn’t expect you to think about what specific things might trigger that memory for me. I didn’t think about it either until it was too late.”

There was a worse thought under all of that that he didn’t dare voice, which was that Eliot wasn’t the man who knew Quentin inside and out anymore. He didn’t know that Quentin was a panicky little shit at the best of times or how to look out for those signs that he was spiralling. It was something his Eliot had been doing for so long now that Quentin took it for granted that someone could know him that well. Could anticipate his thoughts before he even knew what he was thinking. 

Eliot’s head, it seemed, was somewhat in the same place as his.

“I hope I’m different in the future, as the Eliot you know,” he said quietly, “but I’m not good at this, Q. I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend or a husband.”

“You don’t have to know how,” Quentin said, his voice going soft with the sudden and overwhelming tenderness he felt for the man next to him. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

Eliot chewed on his lip for a moment as they walked. Then he looked out in front of them and said, “I know I'm not the man you married right now, but," he paused and brushed his thumb over the back of Quentin's hand then said, "I like you, Quentin. You're a good person. I just don’t want to screw things up with you, and I’m trying to be honest about the fact that I have no idea how not to do that.”

Quentin squeezed Eliot’s hand, and his heart clenched in his chest when Eliot turned to him with misty eyes. 

“Don’t worry about being my husband tonight,” he said quietly. “Let’s just have a nice date and go from there.”

“Okay,” Eliot agreed, and a tentatively pleased smile worked its way onto his face once again.

True to Eliot’s word, they weren’t a very far walk from the restaurant. It was a sort of hole in the wall place they’d been to plenty of times before. Eliot asked the hostess for a table for two, and she led them to a small corner booth in the back. It was thankfully quieter than the tables near the front, and they could hear each other well enough to talk. 

When their server arrived, it was one of the ones who recognized them due to how much they frequented the place. A sweet college student who worked there on the weekends named Rosa.

“Well, hello there!” she called as she approached. She smiled, “How are my favorite boys tonight?”

Eliot shot Quentin a confused expression, and Quentin smiled at him. _I've got this_ , he tried to telepathically communicate. Whether he got the message or not was uncertain, but Eliot gave the girl an easy smile anyways and remained quiet as Quentin forged ahead.

“Uh, we’re good!” Quentin said. “And you?”

She groaned, “We have been absolutely slammed tonight. I was just about to pull my hair out when Susie told me I had another table,” she said, “but seeing your pretty little faces just made my whole night. So, what can I get you?”

They went through their orders without much difficulty, and she took their menus and disappeared to the kitchen again.

“So, we know her I’m guessing?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah, that was Rosa,” Quentin explained. “We’re sort of regulars here. I didn’t even think about anyone recognizing us, sorry.”

“Oh no, no worries,” Eliot said. “She seems lovely.”

She appeared again with their drinks, and Eliot said, “Thanks, Rosa.”

She smiled at him, “You’re welcome! Your food should be out soon.”

Quentin grinned at him after she left, and he asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” Quentin said. “You’ve just always been such a natural with people.”

Eliot said, “You’re good with people too.”

Quentin snorted at that. 

“No, I am objectively bad with people,” he argued.

“You’re good with me and Margo,” Eliot countered.

“Yeah, well, that’s different,” Quentin said.

Eliot mulled that over for a moment as he reached for the chips and salsa on the table. Then he said, “Okay, well the point of this evening is that I don’t know much about you. So, lack of people skills aside, what other mysteries do you hold, Quentin?”

It was a little jarring to have it put so plainly that Eliot knew next to nothing about him as a person, but he was right. That was what they were doing there. So, he shoved that thought down and shrugged.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Hm,” Eliot hummed, “I believe your points of contention the other night were your favorite color and your father’s name, so why not start there?”

Quentin gave him a mocking glare, which Eliot met with a gleeful smile.

“Well, my favorite color is blue, and my father’s name was Ted,” he said.

Eliot frowned at him. He asked, “Was?”

“Yeah, he, uh, died a few years ago,” Quentin explained.

He reached for his drink, and Eliot looked a little lost on how to respond.

Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” Quentin reassured him, “I’m the one who brought him up.”

Eliot nodded quickly down at the table and picked up a chip. He asked, “Did I get the chance to meet him at least?”

“No,” Quentin said, and he watched Eliot’s face fall at that. “He knew about you though, and he would have loved you.”

There was obviously a lot of backstory loaded into that statement, but Eliot graciously knew how to read a room. So, he didn’t push it. Instead, they changed the subject to lighter topics such as how they’d met, questions about their friends, and other mundane details of their lives that were beyond fascinating to Eliot. Quentin had taken for granted how little explanation Eliot had gotten about all of it, and he hadn’t realized just how much he was curious about knowing. In a way, it was sort of nice to reminisce and watch Eliot react to all of their stories, if he let himself forget about why they were doing it.

Eliot leaned back against his side of the booth as he finished his meal and looked at Quentin.

“I have to admit, this is not my A-game for first dates,” he said.

Quentin laughed. He said, “It’s okay, El, I think it’s a pretty safe bet you’ll get a second one.”

He immediately wondered if that was too presumptuous, but Eliot’s salacious smile from across the table eased his concern. 

“Oh, is that so?” he asked.

He leaned forward, and Quentin got so distracted watching him that he jumped when he felt something bump his ankle. Eliot laughed as he dragged his foot up Quentin’s calf.

“I’ve had a really nice night,” he said earnestly.

Quentin pushed back against Eliot’s foot and smiled.

“I have too,” he said.

Rosa appeared to give them their check, and Quentin smiled to himself as he watched Eliot tip her well. If she noticed he was off, she didn't mention it. When they left the restaurant, they decided to walk back home to avoid a repeat of the earlier incident. Besides, it was a nice night. There was a fall chill to the air but only just so, not enough to need a heavy jacket or anything.

That’s why Quentin knew the goosebumps on his arms had a lot less to do with the weather and a bit more to do with the way Eliot kept brushing against him as they walked and chatted. Eliot was going on about how he might recreate the dish he’d had for dinner from scratch at home, which Quentin found very endearing, but to be honest he wasn’t really listening. It was just comforting, hearing Eliot ramble on like that. Like nothing was changed and it was just the two of them on any normal night walking through the city. 

Maybe it was the way Quentin was zoned out that led him to not even realize they’d reached the apartment until Eliot nudged him with his elbow.

“I’d do the gentlemanly thing and open the door,” he said, “but I’ve got no clue which key it is, so.”

Quentin laughed at that and said, “Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I’ve got it.”

He pushed the door open and stepped inside to a quiet, and empty, apartment.

“Huh,” he said, “Margo must have gone out.”

“Hmm,” Eliot said from somewhere behind him.

Quentin sat down his keys and turned around as Eliot closed the door. There was a moment, not exactly an awkward one but definitely a moment, where Eliot stood there watching him almost curiously. Quentin grinned at him.

“What?” he asked.

Eliot shrugged and took a step closer.

He said, “I’d say I usually don’t go home with a guy on the first date, but we both know that would be entirely inaccurate.”

“Yeah, I think you’re a little late to fool me with the innocent act,” Quentin agreed.

“Well,” Eliot drawled, getting closer still, “since we’re both clear on my less than innocent intentions, is it okay if I say I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night long?”

Quentin swallowed around a lump in his throat and nodded.

“Uh, yeah, I think that’d be okay.”

Eliot gave him what could almost pass for a shy little smile before stepping forward and wrapping his arm around Quentin’s waist. Quentin would feel a little silly for the way his heart picked up at that moment, but well, he’d long ago accepted the effect Eliot had on him. He brought his hands up to rest them on Eliot’s waist as Eliot used his other hand to tip Quentin’s face upwards. Eliot looked down at him, his eyes dark and sparkling in the light of the lamp in the corner.

And then they were kissing.

Quentin was very accustomed to kissing Eliot. He knew his patterns, the easy give and take as their mouths pressed together over and over again. The way Eliot would moan if he bit down on his lower lip. The way his toes would curl when Eliot slipped his hand into his hair. These were all things he knew very well. So, he wasn’t sure why it felt like a thousand butterflies took flight in his chest like it was their very first kiss when Eliot pulled him closer.

He trailed his own hands upwards, running them over Eliot’s ribs.

“El,” he whispered.

Eliot pulled back just a breath, asking, “Yeah?”

Quentin pushed his lips back against Eliot’s as he pressed their bodies impossibly closer.

“I want…” he trailed off, losing his train of thought as Eliot’s teeth scraped across the side of his throat.

“What do you want, Q?” Eliot asked.

His words hummed against Quentin’s throat, and he felt like he was coming undone at the seams everywhere they touched. And maybe it was complicated or ill-advised and wrapped up in all kinds of feelings he’d have to untangle in the morning. In fact, it almost definitely was all of those things. Quentin, though, didn’t feel complicated at all about what he wanted in that exact moment.

“Want you,” he managed to say. Then, having just enough presence of mind to remember their situation, he added, “if that’s okay with you.”

Eliot sucked down on his throat, and Quentin moaned.

“Then we should go to the bedroom,” Eliot murmured against his skin, “unless you’re planning on doing it here in the kitchen.”

Quentin snorted out a laugh and felt Eliot smile too. He lifted his head up to look at Quentin.

“I mean, if that’s something we’re into,” Eliot started.

Quentin shut him up by kissing him again, and he didn’t exactly complain. So they made their way to the bedroom, mostly because Quentin grabbed him by the hand and pulled him there, not letting them stop along the way. Eliot pushed the door shut behind them before getting his hands on Quentin’s hips again and kissing him as he walked them back towards the bed. 

“Wait,” Quentin said.

Eliot paused, and Quentin lifted his hands from Eliot’s shirt to do a quick tut.

“Silencing ward,” he explained, “in case Margo comes home.”

“God, I love magic,” Eliot said.

Eliot had him on the bed no less than five seconds later, and he let himself be manhandled until he was leaned up against the pillows on his back. Not seeming to be in any hurry all of a sudden, Eliot kissed him again. They kissed and kissed and kissed and Eliot's hands roamed all over his body, as if he was memorizing every inch of him. It felt nice, despite the fact that Quentin was very much hard and could tell that Eliot was too from where his hips were pressed against Quentin’s leg.

As if he were reading his mind, Eliot reached down and gripped one of Quentin’s thighs and pulled his leg up and around Eliot’s waist. Quentin arched his hips in response, grinding against him, and he relished in the moan that elicited from Eliot’s lips.

“How do you want me?” Eliot asked, his voice coming out rough and a little bit wrecked.

Quentin wanted Eliot in every single way possible, if he was being honest, from the reasonable to the downright impossible scenario of being able to just burrow under his skin and stay there. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed Eliot until they were pressed together like this again. He'd held onto just enough of the rational side of his brain to decide not to push things though. This thing between them, it was new to Eliot even if it felt like coming home to Quentin. 

So, he said, “Maybe just handjobs this time?”

“Oh honey,” Eliot said, “there is nothing ‘just’ about a handjob.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. Same old Eliot, underneath it all.

Instead of saying as much, he reached for the hem of Eliot’s shirt and started to tug on it. Eliot got the message and sat back on Quentin’s thighs so that he could get it all the way off. Quentin took a moment to run his hands over Eliot’s bare chest, trailing his fingers down to where they met his belt. 

“Your turn,” Eliot said.

So, Quentin sat up enough for Eliot to lift his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere to the left. Eliot took a second as his eyes raked over Quentin’s exposed skin before pressing him back against the mattress and lowering his head until he could trace his lips over Quentin’s chest and mouth down to the softer skin of his stomach.

Quentin wasn’t even processing what he was doing, only focusing on the need to be closer, touching more of Eliot, as he wound his fingers in Eliot’s hair and tugged lightly. Eliot moaned against his skin, and he knew Eliot liked a little hair pulling in the right context, so he did it again.

“You know,” Eliot said, “it’s sort of like a wet dream come true to have a hot man in my bed who already knows everything that turns me on.”

And well, when he put it like that.

“Then come up here, and let me show you how well I know what you like,” Quentin said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, and you’re a brat too,” Eliot grinned at him. “Honestly, I think you might be the death of me, Quentin.”

He did as Quentin said though, and if it was one of the best handjobs either of them had ever had, well then perhaps Eliot had a point after all. 

Afterwards, when they’d cleaned up and settled back under the sheets, Quentin was hesitant at first. He wasn’t sure where they stood on post-sex cuddles, and he wasn’t quite sure how to ask either. But Eliot answered him when he sidled up next to him and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him until he was settled in his favorite spot up against Eliot’s chest.

He smiled as he nuzzled his face into Eliot’s neck, and Eliot tightened his arms around him and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Goodnight, Quentin,” he mumbled into his hair.

“G’night,” Quentin sighed.

He got the best sleep that night he’d had in weeks.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to you: The Eliot Chapter

When Eliot woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that he was warm. The second was that he was not alone. And the third, and by far the best, was the fact that Quentin was asleep on his chest.

He lifted his hand that was outstretched to his side and brought it to rest on Quentin’s back. Without really even consciously deciding to do so, he began to gently trace his fingers up and down his spine, which made Quentin whine and wiggle himself closer into Eliot’s side.

“S’early,” he mumbled.

Eliot chuckled.

“Don’t you have to go to work today?” he asked.

Quentin nuzzled his face into Eliot’s neck, like he could hide from the world if only he could get close enough. Quentin not being a morning person was pretty much exactly in line with everything else Eliot knew about him so far. Historically, Eliot wasn’t either, but he thought a few mornings like this might possibly change his stance on the whole thing.

It was nice. Eliot had never really had the sleep soft, quiet experience of waking up in someone’s arms. All of his hook ups had typically seen themselves out before either of them could get that comfortable, and with Daniel, they were never really the mushy type like that. But well, he could get used to it.

They fell quiet for a moment, but he could tell by the uneven breath and the nervous twitchy fingers around his waist that Quentin hadn’t fallen back asleep. Eliot drummed his fingers on Quentin’s side and craned his neck to see his face as well as he could manage in their current position.

“How about I make us both some breakfast while you get ready for work?” he asked.

Quentin groaned in protest, but he still rolled over onto his back, leaving Eliot feeling very cold and alone on his side of the bed. It was his idea though, he reminded himself, as he watched Quentin reach for his phone on the nightstand. Instead of getting up like he’d promised, he stayed there for a moment, just looking at him. 

This wasn’t something he had the luxury of finding mundane yet. In his life, the one he remembered anyway, he didn’t get to have things like this. He didn’t wake up next to someone who loved him. He didn’t have a home or friends he could count on or a family. The thing was though, he liked it. All of it. And maybe especially, he liked Quentin. In fact, he was coming to realize that he really, _really_ liked Quentin.

Which was why he needed answers sooner rather than later. So, he grabbed his own phone and sent a text to Kenzie, ignoring the previous thread of texts he’d been diligently not answering since their disastrous night out.

“Thought you were going to make breakfast?” Quentin asked, his voice just this side of teasing.

Eliot locked his phone again and poked his side. 

“Bossy,” he said.

Quentin practically jumped in response as he shifted away from his fingers. Ticklish, then. That was information he would be filing away for later. For now, though, he had things to do and lying in bed all day wasn’t going to get them done. First on the agenda, making breakfast for the gorgeous man in his bed.

He sighed, “Alright, I’m going.”

He forced himself out of the warmth of the soft sheets and slipped on the black and gold robe he’d found hanging on the inside of the closet door. He’d always wanted to be the kind of person who just wore robes around the house, and he figured he’d guessed correctly that it belonged to him. Quentin didn’t seem like a silk robe kind of guy.

He spared one last look over his shoulder at Quentin, who was frowning adorably at something on his phone, before slipping out into the hall.

When he got to the kitchen, Margo was already there, sipping coffee at the table as she flipped through a magazine.

“Morning,” she said, without looking up.

He hummed in her general direction as he set about looking for a skillet. Maybe he should have thought about cooking in a kitchen where he didn’t know the location of a single item.

“Bottom left cabinet.”

He turned around to see Margo smirking at him, and he replied, “Thanks.”

He could feel her eyes following him as he rummaged through the kitchen, but he steadfastly continued his mission to find the ingredients for the omelet he had in mind without paying her much attention.

Then, after a few more minutes, she said, “You and Quentin must have had a good date night.”

He paused and turned to look at her. She had one eyebrow raised at him and a look on her face that was really too knowing for his comfort.

“We did,” he said carefully.

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, “must have been some good sex too.”

He felt like a fish the way his mouth gaped open and then shut again. 

“How did you….,” he looked down the hall to the bedroom door then back at her, “Quentin said he used a silencing ward.”

Margo had the audacity to _laugh_ at him as she said, “Eliot, honey, I didn’t need to hear you to know you had sex last night.” She gestured in his direction, “You’re doing your make the cute boy breakfast the next morning routine. Plus, I noticed there wasn’t a Quentin shaped lump on the couch when I woke up.”

“Ah,” he said. 

Well, that was something. He really didn’t know how to get used to people knowing him intimately well when he barely felt like he knew himself.

“Relax,” Margo said, and he looked back to her. “I’m just messing with you. Really, I’m happy for you.”

He nodded, “Thank you.”

They stared at each other for another moment. He couldn’t quite pin it down, but sometimes when she looked at him, it felt like they were having a whole nonverbal conversation in a language that he wasn’t fluent in. It was incredibly unnerving, but also sort of comforting in an odd way.

“Be careful with him,” she finally said.

Eliot swallowed roughly as he turned around to set the stove.

“I will,” he said.

“I mean it,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “He’s not like us, El. You’ll break his heart if you get his hopes up and then decide it’s not worth the trouble.”

He placed his hands on the edge of the counter and paused.

“I know,” he said, “and I mean it too. I won’t hurt him, Margo.”

There was a silence, and then he heard shuffling as she picked up her magazine again.

“Good,” she said.

He exhaled through his nose and straightened up again, setting about making breakfast. He measured out enough ingredients to make an extra omelet for her though.

Cooking was something he was good at it. It was something he knew. He hadn’t learned, of course, growing up because cooking was a thing his mother did while he and his brothers had to be out in the fields with his father. Eliot was never really much of a farmhand though, truth be told. 

Once he’d moved to New York, his callouses had eventually faded and he’d finally had the chance to explore new things without being called a plethora of unsavory names for it. During that time, he’d taken a handful of cooking classes in the evenings of his freshman year. He didn’t let any of his new friends know of course, because they all assumed he’d just grown up knowing such delicacies. Probably taught by the family chef or learned from a world class restaurateur on summer vacations in Tuscany. It wasn’t technically lying if he just never corrected their assumptions. In reality, he’d taken the time though and stitched himself together piece by piece until he became the person he was today. 

He wondered, sometimes, how much Margo and Quentin knew about all that. 

Did they know about those bricks he’d meticulously laid and what was hiding underneath them? 

Did they really know _him_ or had they fallen in love with the character he’d created? 

Sometimes, when Quentin looked at him, he felt like he at least must know. He looked at Eliot like he saw every inch of him and loved him for it instead of in spite of it, and that was actually really fucking terrifying. But also, really fucking amazing. 

Just as Eliot was wrapping up, he glanced over his shoulder to see Quentin stumbling into the kitchen, looking freshly showered and dressed for the day. 

“Your timing is impeccable,” he said, offering him a smile and gesturing to the empty seat next to Margo.

“Sleep well?” he heard her ask.

Quentin grumbled, “Shut up.”

He smiled to himself as he piled their omelets onto the plates he’d managed to find and turned around.

“Breakfast is served,” he said, not bothering to hide the pride that colored his voice.

Margo accepted her plate with a little nod that made him feel like she approved, which was all well and good. Quentin though, he took one bite of his omelet and practically moaned around his fork, which Eliot had to try very hard to convince himself not to find devastatingly attractive.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” he said, fully around the food still in his mouth.

And it really shouldn’t have been that cute. Still, he had to bite back a smile as he ate.

Soon enough, Quentin had to leave for work, stopping to give Eliot a tentative kiss on the cheek on his way out. Margo and Eliot had things to do too though, which didn’t leave him a lot of time to ruminate on the last twenty-four hours. 

His follow up with Professor Lipson was that morning, or early afternoon, depending on how you choose to view the construct of time. He didn’t exactly understand everything that the kind yet strange woman was trying to accomplish with him. Frankly, he didn’t really understand much about the whole magic thing in general. He’d believe they were all off their rockers if he hadn’t experienced it for himself. Whatever it all meant, he could no longer deny that he was a part of it though. 

Magic was like this secret thing that had been undeniably running through his veins all along. Eliot had known he was different growing up, for a lot of reasons. He’d never fit in with his surroundings. Being gay in rural Indiana would do that for you. It didn’t quite explain all of it though, and now he knew why. Magic was like the missing puzzle piece of who he was finally falling into place. If it could fix his current predicament too, then he owed it a try at the very least. 

So, he found himself at Brakebills once again with Margo at his side as they waited for the professor to join them in her office. When she arrived, her face was hard to read.

“Well,” she said, sitting down at the desk in front of them, “the good news is I do think that Eliot’s mind has retained his memories, in some capacity.”

Margo’s hand gripped his tightly between their chairs, and he squeezed back.

“And the bad news?” she asked.

Professor Lipson frowned, “Yes, well, there’s always that isn’t there?”

She shuffled some papers on her desk before folding her hands in front of her.

“I still don’t know how we’d go about bringing them to the surface again,” she said. “Magic or not, the mind is a tricky thing. It tends to have a will of its own.”

She punctuated the latter half of her answer with a meaningful look at Eliot.

“So, we’re basically back to square one,” Margo said.

Professor Lipson was studying him carefully, like she was trying to piece something together. Then she turned to Margo.

“Would you mind giving me and Eliot a moment to speak privately, Margo?” she asked.

Margo eyed her skeptically before turning to Eliot, and he gave her a careful nod. He figured he could trust Margo to hear whatever the professor wanted to say to him, but she seemed oddly intense about it which definitely had his curiosity peaked. Margo stared at him for a moment before nodding back. The professor thanked her as she left the room.

Once they were alone, Professor Lipson simply looked at him for a moment. She seemed almost hesitant to speak.

Finally, she said, “Eliot, is there some reason that you don’t want to remember?”

He frowned. Of course, he wanted to remember. It was extremely inconvenient and increasingly frustrating to be walking around in a world he didn’t recognize with people he didn’t remember. How could she not realize that? Getting his life back was pretty much his only goal these days, and to suggest otherwise felt absolutely ludicrous.

“Why would I not want to remember?” he asked.

“Maybe you think you do,” she hedged, seemingly weighing her words carefully, “but perhaps your mind is trying to protect you from doing so.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he argued.

“Actually, it’s a pretty common phenomenon with trauma survivors,” she explained. “It could be your memory of the accident that your mind is trying to protect you from, but I suspect that’s actually not it at all.” She sighed as she looked at him. “Eliot, you’ve been through a lot for someone as young as yourself. Maybe your brain is trying to do you a favor by allowing you to forget all of it.”

He mulled that over for a second. Was he subconsciously trying not to remember? His immediate inclination was no, but well, it was hard to definitively say when he didn’t know what memories were hiding underneath all that haze. 

He’d gathered that things hadn’t always been rosy. Their little ragtag group of found family had its sharp edges, and he wasn’t unaware of that despite not knowing their history. However, everyone had tactfully stopped short of laying out any of the gory details for him. 

It’s also true that he hadn’t pushed the issue on any of it, but maybe that _was_ because he was a little scared to know. 

He’d let everyone keep his world neat and contained since he came home from the hospital, and they’d been happy enough to do it. Only reminiscing on the good times and all. It was kind of them, but now that he was actually considering it, he wasn’t sure it was actually helpful.

“It’s just something to think about,” Professor Lipson said kindly. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I will.”

She reached inside a drawer of her desk, and pulled out a business card. She handed it to him, and he looked it over. It looked like it was for a therapist of some sort.

“If you decide you’d like to talk to someone, Linda is a magician, and she’s very good at what she does,” she explained. “She might be able to help.”

He ran his thumb over the card before pocketing it. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“You’re welcome, Eliot,” she smiled at him.

She rose from her chair then, and he stood to follow her to the door. When she opened it, Margo was lurking not two feet away.

“My team and I will discuss our next steps and let you know what we come up with,” she said.

He shook her hand and nodded at her, which Margo frowned at.

“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s all you’re gonna do.”

“It’s okay,” Eliot said. He placed a hand on her arm to steer her down the hall and said, “Professor Lipson has given me lots to think about.”

Margo gave him a look in response, but she thankfully said nothing. He knew better than to think that meant she had no opinion on the matter, but he wasn’t quite ready to delve into it yet. Maybe she sensed that too. He could never be sure with her. Regardless, she moved onto other topics as they walked through campus and back to the wards. Namely, how weird the psychic kids apparently were. He didn’t know enough about any of the students to judge, but well, he could see her point as they passed two girls holding hands and staring intently into each other’s eyes on a bench. There was certainly a creepy ‘come play with us’ vibe about it.

As soon as they’d crossed through the wards and back to the busy New York streets, his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

“Someone’s popular,” Margo said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He pulled out his phone and skimmed over his notifications. Four texts from Kenzie and one from Quentin, which contained a wide eyed selfie and a message about how Julia was stressing him out. He sent back a frowny face emoji to Quentin and pocketed his phone.

“Anyway,” he said, turning back to Margo, “I have some errands to run, so I’ll meet you back at the apartment.”

Margo placed a hand on her hip and gave him an evaluating look.

“What kind of errands?” she asked.

He shrugged. 

“Just some stuff I gotta take care of,” he said.

She stared at him for another few seconds, and he forced himself to hold a steady expression.

“Fine,” she said reluctantly, “but do I need to be worried about these errands of yours?”

He took a step towards her and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. When he straightened again, she was giving him a somewhat surprised smile.

“Not at all,” he said. “I’ve got my phone on me if you or Q need me, and I won’t be long.”

“Okay,” she said.

He gave her one last reassuring smile before heading towards the nearest subway entrance.

It’s not that he was strictly trying to hide where he was going from Quentin and Margo, but he knew it would only freak them out if they knew what he was up to. They’d probably insist that someone came with him, and he knew they had good intentions, but this was something he needed to do on his own. 

When he emerged from the subway again, his destination was just a few streets away. The cafe Kenzie had sent him directions to was a quiet, off the beaten path sort of place. The bells over the door almost felt obtrusive as he stepped inside and slipped the door closed behind him. It had a very millennial hipster vibe to it, what with all the exposed beams and succulents. His sweeping glance of the room revealed several college students doing a fantastic job pretending to study, an older couple by the windows working away at the Times crossword puzzle, and then, sitting at the back at a table for two, there he was. He turned to look as the door jingled above Eliot’s head and rose to meet him. 

“Eliot,” he said, “It’s so good to see you.”

“You as well, Daniel,” Eliot replied diplomatically.

Daniel gestured to the table where two drinks were already sitting.

“I went ahead and ordered yours,” he said. “I got your usual, I hope that’s okay.”

Eliot sat down and took a sip.

“It’s perfect,” he said, allowing a hint of a smile to pull at his lips.

There was an awkward silence as Eliot took to studying the logo on the side of his cup, and Daniel stared down at his hands.

“Uh,” Daniel cleared his throat, “I was surprised when Kenzie called and said you wanted to see me. I just figured, after dinner last week…”

“Yeah,” Eliot agreed, “well, I wanted to talk, and I’m hoping you can provide some clarity on a few points for me.”

He’d decided much earlier that the only way he was going to get through this was by treating it like a business transaction. 

“Well, I’m glad you reached out,” Daniel said, “and just so you know, Kenzie feels awful.”

 _Good_ , he thought.

“I’m sure she does,” Eliot nodded as he sipped his drink.

“I mean, after how everything went down with you and Margo, she was surprised that you called in the first place. Then when she found out about your accident, I think she was just grateful for the chance to start over. She may have gone a little overboard, but--”

Eliot felt his eyebrows pinch together as he listened.

“Wait,” he looked up, “I’m sorry. Go back to the ‘how things went down with me and Margo’ part.”

Daniel laughed in an uncomfortable sort of way, and Eliot leaned back in his seat. Daniel began to fidget with his hands and leaned forward towards Eliot, his elbows on the table.

“I mean, you know how it all went down as well as I do, so there’s no need to rehash the details,” he said.

Eliot countered, “Oh, I think we probably should. Just to be safe.”

Daniel gave him a long look.

“Margo didn’t tell you, did she?” he asked.

Eliot shook his head.

“Uh uh,” he said, “must have slipped her mind.”

Daniel scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

“Well, this explains a lot,” he said.

Eliot had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, but well, this was what he came here for. Whatever was in his past, he had to know. So, he gestured for Daniel to continue.

“Okay, well, when you fucked off to some mysterious graduate program you’d never mentioned before, we were all concerned, obviously. You just dropped everything, and we all thought you’d gotten into some bad shit and were just afraid to tell us,” he said.

Thinking back on the sort of crowd he ran with in undergrad, Eliot had to admit the assumption wasn’t too far off base. It hadn’t been a good time in his life, which he could see even more objectively now. 

“Anyway,” Daniel said, “that was until you started to visit more often. Then you started bringing Margo with you, and she and Kenzie immediately hit it off--”

“Wait,” Eliot said, holding up his hand, “Kenzie and Margo were friends?”

Daniel laughed, “They were a bit more than that. They had a fling, I guess you could say, for a few months there.”

Eliot gaped at him, “What?”

“Yeah, it was a disaster,” Daniel reassured him, and at least that was one part of the story that was making sense so far.

“Then,” he continued, “there were a few weeks when you and Margo just disappeared. You didn’t answer any of our calls or texts, and we thought you were finally leaving us behind after all.”

Considering everything Eliot knew about magic and Brakebills, there was almost definitely some sort of explanation for that. Not that Daniel or Kenzie could have known that.

“We were devastated, Eliot,” Daniel said, “and we got drunk one night, and it was a mistake. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve regretted it since then.”

There was that sinking feeling again.

“Regretted what, Daniel?” he asked carefully.

Daniel gave him an exasperated look before settling somewhere closer to resignation.

“We slept together,” he finally said.

And there it was, hook, line, and sinker. 

Eliot just stared at him for a moment. 

“You and Kenzie?” he clarified.

“Yes, Eliot,” Daniel sighed. 

Eliot tapped his fingers on the table and shook his head as a mirthless laugh escaped his lips.

“Wow,” he said. 

Daniel reached for Eliot’s hand, but Eliot snapped it back as soon as his fingers grazed his knuckles.

“You were gone for weeks without a word, Eliot,” Daniel pleaded. “We thought you weren’t coming back.”

“So, you just hopped into bed with my best friend?!” Eliot sputtered.

Several people in the cafe turned to look their way and then hurriedly glanced back to their computers. Eliot cleared his throat.

In a quieter voice, Daniel said, “It was a one time thing, and it was a mistake. Honestly, I thought you knew, which is why I was so relieved when you reached out. I thought, maybe, after all this time…”

“You thought, what,” Eliot spat, “that all was forgiven, and I wanted to give you another chance?”

“Well,” Daniel shrugged.

Eliot finished his drink in one quick gulp and rose from the table.

“Eliot, please, don’t go,” Daniel begged. “Not again.”

“Look,” Eliot said, holding out his hand in front of him, “I just… I can’t do this. With you. I don’t…” he trailed, “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He closed his eyes as he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“And I don’t think I can figure that out by living in the past,” he said. “I need to move on and figure out what I want now, and I think it’s best if you do too.”

Daniel shook his head and gave a short laugh.

“That sounds a lot like what you said last time you broke up with me,” he said.

Eliot nodded.

“Well, maybe I was right then too,” he said.

Daniel nodded back and looked down at the coffee cup in his hands.

“Thank you,” Eliot said, “for telling me the truth.”

He turned to leave, but before he could get very far, he heard, “Wait.”

He exhaled and reluctantly turned around.

“I hope you figure out what you want, and that you’re happy, Eliot,” Daniel said. He gave him a sad smile. “You deserve that.”

Eliot stared at him for a moment and then nodded.

“Thank you,” he said.

Then he turned and left the cafe.


	9. Chapter 9

**2 Years Earlier**

“Something deeply tragic has just occurred to me.”

Quentin frowned. That wasn’t really a sentence you wanted to hear from your boyfriend right after having sex. Then again, his boyfriend was Eliot Waugh, and ‘dramatic’ was pretty much his middle name.

He lifted his head from Eliot’s chest and twisted around so that he could look at him. Eliot’s hold on him adjusted accordingly, and his hands slid down to rest on his lower back, one hand dipping further under the sheets to give his ass a squeeze. They were both too tired for him to be trying to start something, so it was just an expression of the casual intimacy they’d built more than anything else. That alone made Quentin’s heart do a little flip because he still wasn’t used to it somehow.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What’s that?”

Eliot looked down at him with a grave expression.

“We’ve been dating for well over a year, and I have yet to take you out dancing,” he said.

Quentin snorted, and Eliot’s expression faltered into an amused smile.

“Yeah, I think that’s for the best,” Quentin said.

Eliot dragged his hands back up his back, pushing one of them into his hair and kneading his fingers into his scalp. Quentin all but purred like a cat in response.

“Come on, Q,” he said, “it could be fun. Just imagine how jealous everyone would be that I was dancing with the hottest man in the room.”

Quentin rolled his eyes but laughed as he leaned his head into Eliot’s hand.

“Pretty sure that’d be you, actually,” he said. “I’d be the one looking like I’m at a middle school dance or something. Everyone would think you just took pity on me.”

Eliot gave him a more serious look then, and Quentin knew what that look preceded. It was the look he got when he got a little too self-deprecating. Because he couldn’t just let a nice moment be a nice moment.

“That’s definitely not true,” Eliot started, “but we don’t have to go dancing if it would make you uncomfortable. I was mostly joking anyways.”

Quentin knew he wasn’t though, and that made him feel like an awful boyfriend. Eliot should have someone who could go dancing with him and not be so self-conscious that they work themselves into a panic about it. He deserved someone who wanted to take him out and show him off like the treasure that he was. 

“Hey,” Eliot said.

His fingers cupped Quentin’s jaw, his thumb swooping gently across his cheek.

Quentin looked up, and he was taken aback at the tenderness in Eliot’s eyes as he looked at him.

“What’s going on in your head right now?” he asked.

Quentin sighed and glanced down at the sheets of their bed. This sort of check in was something they’d worked out in the early days, because communication was just really hard for the both of them. Eliot asked what he was thinking when he needed honesty, and Quentin always did his best to hold up his end of that deal.

So, he said, “I’m sorry, it’s just. You deserve someone who can do those things with you without freaking out about it.”

Eliot gently lifted his face up until he was forced to meet his eyes. He exhaled, his head tilting to the side as he gave Eliot a miserable look.

“This might surprise you to find out,” Eliot said, “but I’m not actually dating you because of your passion for ballroom dancing.”

A laugh bubbled out of Quentin’s throat, despite the pouty face he was definitely wearing.

“I love you,” Eliot continued, “and that includes your apparent two left feet.”

Quentin fought against a smile for a few seconds before giving in and leaning in to press a kiss to Eliot’s lips instead. Eliot hummed against his mouth and pulled him impossibly closer.

“Love you too,” he said.

The next day was a long one, and Quentin was really looking forward to getting home to Eliot and not thinking about a single publishing copyright law again for the rest of the night. When he opened the front door though, the lights in the entryway were off which was unusual. He set down his keys and toed off his shoes before glancing around the kitchen.

“El?” he called.

He got no answer, so he padded through the dark dining room and around the corner towards the living room.

“Eliot?” he asked again.

Then he fully turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. There were candles scattered all around, giving the room a soft, romantic glow, and every single piece of their furniture was pushed up against the walls, allowing an open space in the middle of the room. Eliot was leaning against the sofa, grinning at him.

“Hi,” he said.

Quentin looked around, his mouth opening and shutting a few times.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Eliot tapped on his phone a few times, and quiet jazzy music began to play from the bluetooth speaker to the side of the room. He stepped forward until they were barely a foot apart, offering his hand to Quentin.

“You said you wanted to do things like this with me, but going out dancing freaked you out,” he explained, “so, since it’s just me and you here now... may I have this dance, Quentin Coldwater?”

Quentin felt like his heart might actually burst out of his chest. He pursed his lips together, trying to contain the sudden flood of emotion, and shook his head at his wonderful, ridiculous boyfriend.

“Yes, you may,” he said earnestly.

He placed his hand in Eliot’s, and Eliot pulled him in until he could wrap his arms around Quentin’s waist. Their chests pressed together, and Quentin sighed, his eyes closing as his head came to rest against the place where Eliot’s shoulder met his neck. Eliot slowly began to move them until they were swaying just enough to be considered dancing. Honestly, it wasn’t much of a dance, but it was perfect to Quentin. It was everything.

“I love you so much, you know,” Quentin said, emotion taking over his voice and making it crack.

Eliot squeezed him in a tight hug before continuing their gentle sway.

“Love you too, baby,” he said.

**Present Day**

When Quentin woke up, it was to the feeling of fingers gently stroking up and down his back. He took about half a second to register that it was definitely earlier than he wanted to be awake, and he groaned in protest. He pressed himself closer against Eliot’s warm body, trying to hide in hopes that he might just not have to get up if he willed it hard enough.

“It’s early,” he tried to say, but his voice came out muffled from sleep and from the way he had his entire face pressed into Eliot’s chest.

He could feel more than hear Eliot’s laugh. 

“Don’t you have to go to work today?” he asked.

He scooted further up the bed and dipped his head down to rest against Eliot’s neck. He didn’t want to think about work. He wanted to stay right here.

He’d been having a good dream when he woke up. It was a memory more than a dream really, about the night they’d pushed all the furniture in the living room out of the way and danced for what felt like hours. It was back before they were married, in the days when they were still settling into their lives together. It was one of Quentin’s favorite memories. It had also been the night he’d known with 100% certainty that he would spend the rest of his life with this man. Not that it hadn’t been the plan all along, but there are moments when you just _know_ , and that had been one of them.

Then, like flipping a switch, the fogginess of sleep cleared from his mind and he began to remember. He’d fallen asleep with Eliot after their date last night. The date they’d gone on because Eliot had lost all of his memories of their life together. His breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. 

Eliot was still holding onto him though, so he forced himself to stay calm and enjoy the moment. The morning became all the more precious given the current circumstances.

Eliot shifted underneath him, and his rough morning voice was right next to Quentin’s ear as he said, “How about I make us both some breakfast while you get ready for work?”

Well, it seemed real life was carrying on around them after all. He groaned again, more out of principle this time though, and reluctantly detached himself from Eliot to roll over onto his back. He reached for his phone and began to scroll through his notifications. 

He had a text from Alice asking how Eliot was doing, and he sent back a quick update and a thanks for her concern. Most of their friends had been keeping their distance, most likely not sure how to go about helping in this situation, and he understood. Besides, several of them were also separated by entire planes of existence. It was still nice to know they cared though.

He had a text from Julia, which mostly consisted of the eyes emoji. He sent her back a thumbs up. 

Upon a quick glance, he also had a few emails from her, all work related. Those looked a lot less exciting though, so he’d get to them later. 

Right now, he had the distinct feeling of being watched. When he turned his head, he found he was correct, and he grinned as Eliot hurriedly looked back down at his phone.

“Thought you were going to make breakfast?” he asked pointedly.

Eliot poked his side, in the exact spot he would have known Quentin was extremely ticklish if he remembered anything about him. 

“Bossy,” he accused.

Quentin reflexively squirmed away, his instincts fully prepared for a tickle fight. It didn’t happen though, thankfully, and Eliot gave in to his demands with a theatrical sigh.

“Alright, I’m going,” he said.

He got up, fishing around in the closet for the black and gold robe Quentin loved unreasonably on him. It reminded Quentin of Eliot when he’d met him back at Brakebills, the picture of confidence and sophistication. Eliot may not have been that exactly, underneath it all, but it was a part of who he had chosen to be, and Quentin just loved every part of Eliot regardless. It only helped that he loved how nice it felt to have his hands all over Eliot when he was wearing silk.

He was getting carried away with his thoughts though, so he looked back down at his phone. Whatever Eliot had in mind for breakfast would no doubt take a bit for him to make, and he should use that time to prepare for his day before he had to shower and get dressed. So, he opened one of Julia’s emails.

It was less of an email to him and more of a thread of emails he had been copied into. Julia handled her own shit with their clients usually, preferring to take over the business side of it where Quentin faltered a bit. She typically only copied him in when he needed to see something she was particularly pissed off about or if it was something extremely important.

This one looked to be both.

He did a quick scroll through the thread, sighing at Julia’s barely contained frustration with one of their agents who was threatening to pull a promising book deal. The dispute was over something stupid, of course, because pretty much all of them were. Julia copying him in though meant that she expected him to do something about it. This was going to be a day by the looks of it. 

He locked his phone again, deciding to enjoy the peaceful morning while it lasted, and resigned himself to getting out of bed and getting ready. By the time he strolled into the kitchen, Eliot had apparently had the time to make an omelet under Margo’s watchful eye. He’d feel a little bad about leaving Eliot to deal with Margo’s certain interrogation about their night before, but he knew his was coming too.

Eliot glanced at him from where he was still standing at the stove and smiled.

“Your timing is impeccable,” he said.

He pointed to the seat next to Margo, where Quentin had already been heading. So, he let himself fall into the chair and turned his head to her. She was giving him a very smug grin, and he leveled her with a look that said _let’s just get this over with_.

“Sleep well?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes at her.

“Shut up,” he said.

She didn’t push it any further just yet, which left him only a little afraid of the teasing that would follow later. Instead, she just gave him a knowing smile.

Before she could get another word out, Eliot turned around with a gleeful look on his face.

“Breakfast is served,” he said, sliding a plate in front of both him and Margo.

Quentin loved Eliot’s cooking. He always had, back to the days at Brakebills when he’d occasionally be treated to whatever Eliot was making in the cottage. It came naturally to him, which Quentin knew was down to years of practice in secret, but it was still a talent all the same. Quentin had been trying to keep himself alive for nearly three decades and had yet to figure out how to make anything more complex than a good mac and cheese. This breakfast omelet, of course, was no exception to the rule.

He took one bite and closed his eyes, moaning around his fork. 

“Oh my god, that’s amazing,” he said.

The look on Eliot’s face at his compliment was enough to have him smiling the rest of the way through breakfast.

Soon enough, he had to go into the office though. He knew from the three more emails that had come through on his phone that he was pushing his luck with ignoring reality much longer. So instead of lazing around apartment with Eliot and Margo, he grabbed his keys and his bag of the work he’d been halfheartedly doing at home, and he steeled himself for a long day ahead. On his way out, he paused by the sofa where Eliot was sitting with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He gave it about a second’s thought before leaning down and kissing him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” he said.

Eliot smiled at him fondly, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

“See you,” Eliot said.

He carried that happy start to the day all the way across Brooklyn and up the elevator to his and Julia’s seventh floor office space. They shared the space with a couple of in-house editors, but it was, overall, a very small operation. Unfortunately, that meant that when the atmosphere in the office became tense, it could be felt in every corner of the space. As soon as Quentin stepped off the elevator and opened the door, he could tell it was one of those days.

He waved to Charlotte as he passed her desk, and she cut her eyes at Julia’s office, giving him a wide eyed warning look. He nodded and smiled at her, giving her a conspiratorial look to thank her for the heads up. Julia could get snappy when she was stressed, and he didn’t blame her, but their poor editors sometimes got the brunt of it. 

He carried on into her office though, and knocked on her half open door before stepping inside.

She was leaning over her laptop, her head in her hands. She had a wild look in her eyes when she glanced up, but she exhaled in relief when she saw him.

“Q, thank god you’re here,” she said. “Did you see the emails I copied you in from Jackson?”

“I skimmed them this morning,” he admitted.

“Great,” she said, shutting her laptop and rising from her desk, “I need you to call her then. If she says one more word to me about her contract, I am going to lose my goddamn mind.”

“Okay, I’ll call,” he agreed carefully.

She shoved her phone into her purse, and looked at him, her shoulders slumping a bit as she paused.

“How was your date with Eliot?” she asked.

He felt a blush creeping on his face, and she gave him a dimpled smile in response.

“That good, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah, it went really well,” he said.

She walked up to him then and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Good,” she said. “You’re telling me all about it later.”

She brushed past him into the hall, and he turned around to ask, “Are you going somewhere?”

“Q, if I don’t get out of this office for a minute, I’m gonna kill someone,” she answered bluntly, looking at him as she continued walking backwards down the hall. “Tell Charlotte and Matt to text me what they want from the coffee shop. And you too.”

“Will do,” he agreed.

“And call Jackson! Please!” she added as she stepped out the front door.

He sighed as he made his way to his own desk and got his workspace set up for the day. He had about 200 unanswered emails in his inbox, a decent amount of which actually needed a response. Before he dove in though, he leaned back in his chair glanced to the corner of his desk, where a wedding photo of him and Eliot stood. It wasn’t one of those cringey posed photos because neither of them had wanted that. Instead, it was a snapshot of them laughing in the middle of their vows. 

He stared at it for a moment, letting the warmth of the moment settle over him and calm his already frazzled nerves. He could do this.

As the day wore on though, he was starting to doubt his resolve. Julia was gone for quite awhile longer than a coffee run necessitated. He wasn’t letting himself get angry about it, because she’d been dealing with a lot. However, he could have used the help instead of the fifteen or so forwarded emails from her adding to his growing to do list. He had to take a moment to pause a few hours in, and he sent a quick selfie to Eliot along with a text saying, “I’m so stressed, and Julia is *not* helping.”

Eliot texted back a frowning emoji about thirty minutes later, which must have meant he was out of the Brakebills wards. Quentin wanted to ask how the appointment had gone, but he really didn’t have time to have a whole conversation if he was going to get out of there at a reasonable hour that day. So, he sent back a heart emoji and locked his phone again, setting it to the side.

Julia came back eventually, and the stress of the day dissolved minutely as her happier mood filled the office. She was still on edge, but noticeably less so. 

Then, just as he was getting back into the flow of his tasks, his phone rang. He always kept it on silent at work, only allowing certain people’s calls to come through on loud in case of emergency. Margo was one of them.

Taylor Swift’s "Look What You Made Me Do", the ringtone she’d chosen for herself, blared through his office, and he hurriedly reached for his phone.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Not to freak you out, but we’ve got a problem,” she said without preamble.

His heart nearly stopped in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, “Is Eliot okay?”

“He’s fine,” she said, “but he took off after we left Brakebills, and he was acting super sketchy about it, so I followed him.”

“And?” he asked.

He was breathing a little easier, knowing Eliot was at least physically okay.

“Q,” she said, her voice placatingly and uncharacteristically calm, “he went to meet Daniel.”

Whatever he had expected her to say, that wasn’t it. That was… well, it made Quentin’s heart drop right into his stomach. 

“What--I mean, do you know why?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “but I saw him go into some coffee shop and sit down with him. I couldn’t get much closer without one of them seeing me.”

They were both quiet for a minute as he mulled over his thoughts. There was no point in jumping to conclusions without knowing the full story. There were plenty of reasons Eliot could have decided to meet up with him. However, there was also no way Quentin was going to focus on his work for another three hours without knowing. So, he slammed his laptop shut and stuffed it in his bag.

“Alright, I’ll be home in half an hour,” he said.

“Thank god,” Margo said.

“Thanks for calling,” he told her, before hanging up.

He packed up the rest of his things, trying not to let himself be in too much of a hurry about it, and locked up his office before making his way down the hall to Julia’s. She glanced up at him with a smile that quickly faltered at the sight of his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He gave her an apologetic look and explained, “Margo just called, and there’s something up with Eliot. I don’t know how serious it is, but I’ve gotta go, Jules.”

She frowned at him.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

“Apparently,” he pushed a hand through his hair, “but he ditched Margo just now to go see Daniel, and we don’t know why, but it can’t be anything good. I told Margo I’d meet her at the house.”

“I mean, I’m glad he’s okay,” Julia said tightly, “but don’t you think this is a little dramatic? Surely whatever is going on can wait until the end of the work day.”

A mix of frustration and confusion settled over him as he looked at her. She had that level headed responsible look on her face like she was having to be very patient with him about something.

“No, it really can’t,” he said.

“Q,” she interrupted, “I get that you’re concerned, but I kind of wish you were concerned about our jobs too. Margo can handle Eliot for a few hours, but I need you here. This business wasn’t meant to be run by one person.”

“Jules,” he said.

“Look,” she said, folding her hands on her desk in front of her, “I’ve picked up your slack since the accident because I _understand_. We all love Eliot, and obviously his health comes first, but Q, this can’t become a normal thing. Things are going to start slipping around here more than they already are.”

He laughed, a little bit in disbelief.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now,” he shook his head. He turned to walk out of her office, ignoring the look on her face. “Eliot needs me, and that’s where I’m going to be.”

"Q!" she groaned in frustration behind him, and he pulled her office door closed and left.

His commute home dragged on, seemingly even longer than usual. It didn’t help that he was antsy and staring at his phone the whole way. He had an internal argument for the entire thirty minutes or so about whether or not he should just call Eliot. There had to be a perfectly good explanation for whatever he'd been doing. Maybe Julia was right, and he was being dramatic by just taking off like this. Margo had sounded worried though, and he knew she wouldn’t have called him if she didn’t think it was necessary. 

Finally, he reached his apartment door. Just as soon as he opened it a crack though, he could hear voices carrying from the living room.

“How am I supposed to believe anything you say?” Eliot was yelling.

“Because I’m your best friend, you dickhead!” Margo shot back.

Eliot laughed.

“Oh, that’s fucking rich,” he said.

They both looked up as Quentin turned the corner, and Eliot’s icy glare settled on him. He froze.

“Did you know too?” he asked.

He stammered, “Uh, know what?”

Margo interrupted, “No, he didn’t know. I never told him, and I doubt you did either. It was way before the two of you met.”

He looked to Margo then, clear confusion radiating from every inch of him. 

“What are you two talking about?” he asked.

Eliot’s voice was dripping with venom as he turned to Quentin and explained, “Daniel filled in some of the blanks for me today about what happened before. Apparently Margo forgot to mention her little whirlwind romance with Kenzie, which ended with Kenzie and Daniel cheating on both of us with each other.”

Quentin looked at Margo, trying to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. He’d known things with Daniel had ended after Eliot found magic, but he’d never once heard that part of the story. He’d just thought things had fizzled out, because obviously it’s hard to date someone who isn’t a magician. This added context, and the fact that Margo had kept it to herself these last few weeks while Eliot reconnected with both of them, was a lot to process. He suddenly didn’t blame Eliot so much for his anger.

“Margo, why didn’t you say anything?” he asked.

Eliot folded his arms over his chest and nodded, “Yeah, Margo. Why didn’t you?”

“Because it’s ancient history,” she explained, her voice taking on a dangerously hard tone. “Excuse me for not wanting to drag it up again.”

“It’s not ancient history for me!” Eliot shot back. “Didn’t it ever seem relevant for you to mention when I was trying to figure out why I stopped talking to them?”

“No,” she argued, “because why would I bring it up? Just so that you could get mad all over again, like you are right now, for no reason? This won’t matter to you anymore once you remember everything.”

“And what if I don’t?” he challenged.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Of course you will,” she said.

“So just fuck me until then I guess, right?” he accused. 

“Eliot,” she yelled.

“No,” he said, and Quentin could hear his anger in the tremor of his voice, “see, this is exactly the problem. Everyone is walking on eggshells around me and acting like I can’t handle the truth, but how am I supposed to remember my life if no one will tell me what really happened? How am I supposed to trust any of you if you’re hiding important things from me?”

He spared a glance at Quentin before turning back to glare at Margo. His lip was trembling as he continued.

“Maybe I’d be better off without your help, if this is what it looks like,” he said.

Margo just stared at him, a million emotions playing out on her face. Quentin rarely saw her close to crying, but she was now. She crossed her arms.

“Fine,” she said.

She turned then, going back to her bedroom and slamming the door.

That left just Quentin and Eliot alone in the living room, shrouded in an awkward silence. Eliot was staring down at the floor, a pinched expression on his face.

“Did you mean that?” Quentin asked quietly.

Eliot looked up at him, his expression shifting quickly between anger, fear, devastation.

“Yes,” he said.

Quentin shifted on his feet, his body subconsciously swaying a step back into the hall.

“Just about Margo?” he asked, “Or…”

Before he could finish, Margo’s bedroom door slammed again into the silence of the room. She stormed past them with a bag slung over her shoulder.

“Margo, what are you doing?” Quentin asked tiredly.

“I’m going back to Fillory and my girlfriend,” she snapped, “where I’m actually needed, because Eliot clearly has all of this under control.”

Quentin was much too tired to argue with her, and Eliot didn’t even try. So, she carried on down the hall and out the door. The silence she left in her wake was heavy and almost unbearable.

It took him a moment to be brave enough to look at Eliot. When he did though, Eliot was looking right back at him with a weary expression on his face.

“Q,” he said slowly, “I think we should talk.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is kind of the last chapter minus an epilogue that will be posted next. The end of this fic really snuck up on me, even though this was the plan all along! Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has followed this fic and left me such lovely comments!! I'm looking forward to starting my next project and to keep on writing better endings for these characters we all love so much. <3 So, without further ado...

Quentin decided in that moment that “we need to talk” was probably the worst phrase in the English language. He felt he was qualified to say so, as someone with a career in publishing. Pair that with the stricken look on Eliot’s face as he said it, and frankly it should just be illegal. 

He could only regard Eliot for a second before carefully answering, “Okay.”

Eliot gestured toward the sofa, and Quentin exhaled as he walked over to take a seat. Eliot followed him and sat next to him, not close enough to touch but close enough to feel the tension coming off of him in waves. Quentin fiddled with his hands as he stared at the coffee table in front of them.

“I’m upset with Margo, not you,” Eliot said finally.

Quentin looked up at him then, a small wave of relief flooding over him. He felt a little guilty for it, given the current circumstances, but it was a guilt he could live with.

Eliot was giving him a near solemn look, his every emotion plastered onto his face like a billboard. It was uncharacteristic of Eliot at best, who held his emotions close to his heart at all times. The openness alone was a testament to just how upset he truly was.

“I really like you, Q” he continued, “and I don’t want to lose this.”

He gestured between them, a tiny little smile turning up his lips before he settled back into his somber expression.

“I definitely don’t either,” Quentin agreed, feeling a hopeful desperation clawing at his chest despite the obvious _but_ that was coming.

“But I think I need some time to figure things out,” Eliot said, looking up and over the room, “and some brutal honesty from you.”

Quentin nodded quickly, “I can do that,” he said, “but when you say you need time..?”

Eliot sighed, “I mean, I don’t think I can just keep sitting around playing house with you and acting like everything is normal when it’s not. I’m not sure it’s helping.”

Quentin mulled that over for a second, shoving down his own fear that the words instilled, and agreed, “That’s fair.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear by any means, but a part of him could understand where Eliot was coming from. It was impossible for him to know how all of this felt for Eliot. He could only imagine how confusing it was though and how powerless he must feel just waiting for something to happen while everyone lived their lives around him. And he was justified in his anger too, even if he was directing most of it at Margo. They had both been keeping things from him, even if they thought it was for his own good.

“So, what do you want to do then?” he asked. 

Eliot looked at him thoughtfully.

“I’d like to keep getting to know you, if that’s alright,” he said.

Quentin exhaled and reached out his hand in the space between them, craving the grounding touch as his relief washed over him. He hadn’t really thought Eliot would be so fickle as to cut him out entirely at this point, but he also knew Eliot’s fear, his insecurities. He’d thought maybe, this might be the time they win, extenuating circumstances and all. Eliot took his outstretched hand though and squeezed it tightly.

“I’d like that too,” Quentin said, a smile taking over his face.

Eliot smiled back at him, a careful little thing but there nonetheless.

“I’ve also been thinking about it, and I think maybe I’d like to start learning magic again,” he said.

Quentin raised an eyebrow, not expecting that at all. 

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Eliot nodded, a brighter smile lighting up his face. “I really hope I wake up tomorrow and everything comes back to me, but if it doesn’t…,” he trailed, “I didn’t even know magic existed, and now that I do, it’s…”

“It’s everything,” Quentin finished for him.

“Yeah,” Eliot agreed.

Quentin gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and said, “We’ll talk to Dean Fogg then. See if he can get you set up with some classes.”

Eliot gave him a grateful look. He said, “I’d love that.”

Quentin smiled back at him, and the weight that had been lingering in the air began to lift a little bit. Things may not be perfect, but they weren’t awful. 

Letting the unexpected relief settle over him, he took a chance, scooting closer on the sofa until he was only inches away. Eliot responded by letting go of his hand to wrap both arms around him. He went easily as Eliot tugged at his shoulders to pull him close. He wound his own arms around Eliot’s waist as Eliot’s chin came to rest on top of his head.

“We’re really going to be okay, aren’t we?” he asked, less of a question and more an observation. Because it really felt like they might be.

“I think we are,” Eliot marveled.

There was a lot left to worry about. Quentin would have to smooth things over with Julia, and Margo was going to take some time. Of course, Eliot still didn’t remember anything either, and maybe he never would. For the moment though, Quentin could breathe. Things weren’t going to fall apart in his hands just yet.

The weeks to come would fall into a steady, if fragile, routine.

It turned out that Dean Fogg was amenable to Eliot’s desire to learn magic, and he set him up with a studio apartment on campus so that he could attend classes with the first years. It was a setup that thirty year old Eliot would scoff at, but it worked out quite well given the circumstances.

Eliot was able to study magic during the week and spend his weekends in the city with Quentin, which was a compromise that Quentin was very willing to make. Eliot would leave Brakebills early in the afternoon on Friday after his last class, which gave them the evenings to designate as date nights. They made as much use of that time as possible. Saturdays, though, were often slower and usually involved a lot of lazing around before they eventually found their way to talking about things.

The talking part wasn’t always fun, but it was necessary. They did their best to make it not suck entirely as well.

On one chilly November afternoon, over coffee at a new place that had recently opened down the street, Eliot told him, “I’ve started seeing a therapist.”

Quentin hadn’t been expecting that, to say the least. He buried his surprise though, and asked, “How’s that going?”

Eliot was holding his coffee cup like it was an accessory more than a drink, suspended delicately in his hand halfway from the table to his mouth like he was posing for a photo. He stayed like that as he looked out the window and chewed on his lower lip.

“Not sure yet,” he said.

“Well,” Quentin said, “I hope it helps.”

Eliot turned back to him then, offering a gentle smile. 

“Me too,” he said.

Much to Julia’s relief, Eliot’s newfound dedication to magic freed Quentin up to spend his week days in the office once again. On his first day back, he found a chocolate chip cookie and a note on his desk.

“Sorry for being a bitch - Jules”

He looked up from his desk with a grin at Julia, who was giving him an awkward smile and a thumbs up from the doorway of his office. 

He pulled her into a hug without hesitation.

“Sorry for being a dick,” he mumbled into her hair.

They started laughing at pretty much exactly the same time and could only hold onto each other as giggles shook their embrace. It almost definitely wouldn’t be their last fight, but it was going to take a lot more than that to shake a lifetime of friendship.

Over the weeks, he and Eliot trudged their way through several hard conversations before the mosaic finally came up. Quentin had been equal parts dreading it and desperately wanting to talk to him about it. That didn’t exactly make it simple though. They were lounging on a blanket in Central Park, having decided to take advantage of a rare slightly warm afternoon when Quentin told him the whole story.

“So, let me get this straight,” Eliot said, waving his wine glass in the air as he spoke. “We went back in time to past Fillory, where we lived as peasants, raised a child, and spent _fifty years_ together. Then it didn’t actually happen because Margo prevented it.”

Quentin agreed but added, “There really wasn’t very much about it that I’d call ‘straight’ though, to be honest.”

Eliot stared at him for about two seconds before he burst into a fit of laughter. Quentin laughed too, unable to help himself. The conversation didn’t end there, but their smiles came a little bit easier after that.

“I guess I never thought I’d be a dad,” Eliot confessed some time later, after they’d settled into a comfortable silence.

Quentin knew that, of course. He’d been there for the 9 month long freak out Eliot had over Teddy’s birth. He’d been terrified of ending up like his father, convinced that he would be no good for Teddy at all. Quentin had never once been concerned about that though. Eliot was just about the most nurturing, loving person he knew. It just took some convincing for him to believe it about himself.

“You were an amazing dad,” Quentin reassured him.

Eliot didn’t really have much to go on if he wanted to argue, because how could he, but he didn’t look entirely convinced as he thought it over. Quentin settled on leaving it there.

The other elephant in the room, of course, was the monster. Quentin had told Eliot about it upfront when they’d started sorting through their past. It was the sort of thing you couldn’t really put off for later. Still, it took awhile before Eliot asked to broach the subject again.

“I suppose that explains why I have arthritis at thirty,” he surmised after one lengthy conversation.

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed.

It was sort of like that when they discussed it. Stops and starts and pulling it apart piece by piece. Quentin had spent a good deal of time in therapy himself figuring out how to move on from Eliot’s possession, so it wasn’t exactly his favorite topic of discussion either. He couldn’t blame Eliot for needing the time to process it, and Eliot seemed to realize that Quentin did too. 

After maybe the third time they brought it up, and the time they got into the details of just how much Quentin had done to keep him safe, Eliot stared at him for a moment before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“You really love me,” he said, his face pressed up against the side of Quentin’s head.

Quentin was in shock for a second or two, but he quickly wrapped his arms around Eliot’s waist and nodded into his chest.

“I do,” he said.

Two weeks before Christmas, they were walking through busy city streets when Eliot told him, “I ran into Margo at Brakebills the other day.”

That pulled Quentin up short. He’d barely heard from her himself since the night she’d left. He knew she was okay, mostly thanks to a message or two from Fen via bunny. Other than that, she’d kept her space though and so had he. He’d felt a little guilty for being the one Eliot still spoke to, if he was honest.

“Really?” he asked.

Eliot hummed.

“She apologized, and we’ve been sort of catching up,” he said.

“Wow, that’s great, El,” Quentin said earnestly.

“It is nice,” Eliot agreed. “She has lots to tell me about my past.”

Quentin snorted.

“Yeah, I’m sure she does,” he said.

Eliot grinned and tugged on his hand.

“Don’t worry, Q,” he said, “Ibiza holds no interest for me after that thing you did with your tongue last night when you…”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Quentin said, feeling his face flush. He hissed, “We’re in public!”

Eliot grinned at him salaciously but he did shut up, for the moment at least.

The following week felt impossibly long. Eliot would be free from classes for a month starting Wednesday for winter break, and Quentin was not feeling patient about those three days standing between them at all. Julia was just about ready to throw books at his head for the way he was anxiously fluttering around the office all afternoon by Tuesday.

“Q, if you don’t stop pacing, I’m going to chain you to your desk!” she threatened at around 3pm.

Their editors laughed to themselves from their desks, and he flipped her off. 

Wednesday came though, against all odds, and Quentin didn’t waste any time pretending he’d be working a full day. What good was being the boss if you couldn’t give yourself the afternoon off? Julia only laughed and rolled her eyes at him when he checked out not much more than an hour after lunch. 

He could admit he was being ridiculous, but a month long vacation with Eliot in the city with him was something worth being ridiculous about. Besides, Eliot would be home by two, and he wanted to beat him there. 

Despite the unexpected traffic he found himself in, he did beat Eliot home, stepping inside their apartment at around 1:30. However, the apartment wasn’t empty when he closed the door and turned on the light.

“Uh, what are you doing here, Margo?” he asked.

She pushed off the edge of the kitchen table, where she’d been leaning, and walked towards him.

“What?” she asked, “No ‘Hey Margo, long time no see, how are you?’”

He rubbed his elbow and shifted awkwardly.

“Uh, sorry, it’s just…” he trailed off.

She gave him an amused look before laughing at him. 

“Relax,” she said, “I’m just messing with you.” She paused to smile at him. “I did miss you, though.”

He sighed and gave her a look before closing the distance between them to wrap her in a fierce hug.

“Missed you too,” he said.

She indulged him for about two seconds before backing away and saying, “Okay, enough touchy feely.”

“Alright,” he said, still smiling at her, “but really. What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until this weekend.”

She shrugged, “I’m as surprised as you are, but Eliot demanded that I fetch you and get you to Brakebills, and I quote, ‘immediately, I don’t care if you have to drag him’. So, you’re coming with me.”

“What?” Quentin asked, feeling a spike of panic all of a sudden. “Is he okay? Why didn’t he call me?”

“He’s fine,” she waved a dismissive hand at him, “but as for the rest, you’ll just have to come with me and see for yourself.”

He was skeptical of the look on her face at best, but well, what choice did he really have? 

“And change into something that doesn’t give me accountant vibes,” she added.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes but allowed her to bully him into a dark red sweater and clean black skinny jeans. 

The nearest Brakebills portal wasn’t very far away, a perk of living where they did, so they only had to take a short walk to get to it. Margo grabbed his arm just as he was about to pass through the wards.

“Wait,” she said.

He exhaled and gave her an impatient look as she brushed her fingers through his hair and smoothed it down on the sides. He allowed her a few seconds before batting her hand away.

“Margo,” he sighed.

She stepped back and grinned at him.

“Alright, that’ll have to do,” she said. “Now, off you go.”

He looked to the door then back at her.

“Aren’t you coming too?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

He gave her a suspicious look, but he actually was eager to see Eliot, so he didn’t waste too much time on it. He glanced around them before opening the door slowly and finding himself standing on the edge of the expansive Brakebills lawn. It was a bright and sunny day on campus, despite being a week before Christmas. There was just enough chill in the air to remind you it was December though as he made his way across the grass. 

When he got closer, he could see a figure in the distance. Not just anyone though. It was Eliot, stretched out across the Brakebills sign like a cat lounging in the sun. He was a perfect picture of the Eliot he’d met so long ago, except for the slightly longer hair he’d been steadily growing out again. Quentin grinned to himself as he picked up his pace.

Eliot caught sight of him, or more likely pretended to just be noticing him, when he stopped a few feet away. He sat up, ceremoniously swinging his legs over the edge of the sign to face him.

“Quentin Coldwater-Waugh?” he asked.

Quentin grinned, “Uh huh.”

Eliot hopped down and walked towards him until they were only inches apart.

“I’m Eliot,” he said, a wide grin on his face, “and you’re late.”

His face looked like it was nearly going to break from trying to contain the smile he was wearing, and he looked strangely like he might actually be about to cry. Just before Quentin could process any of that though, he had a thought that pulled him up short.

“Wait,” he asked, “how did you know…?”

He trailed off and stopped. His heart skipped a beat in his chest.

“You remember,” he breathed.

Eliot nodded his head.

He opened his arms at the exact moment Quentin crashed into him.

“Oh my god, you remember,” Quentin chanted into his neck.

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Eliot said.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Quentin’s head, and Quentin pulled away enough to look at him.

“I don’t..” he said, “I mean. When? _How?!_ ”

Eliot laughed softly as he brought his hands up to cup his face.

“Literally like an hour ago,” he said, “and I don’t know how. I was walking back to my apartment after class, and then it was just… all there. Like I’d never forgotten in the first place.”

Quentin felt hysterical. He laughed, “Oh my god.”

“I know,” Eliot breathed, sounding pretty giddy himself.

Eliot leaned in, brushing his lips against Quentin’s, and Quentin responded in a hurry. He wrapped his arms around Eliot’s neck and eagerly pressed their mouths together. It was a little messy and a little frantic, but neither of them could really bring themselves to care. They’d kissed plenty over the last few weeks, but this one was entirely different.

When they separated, it was just far enough for Eliot to say, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Quentin whispered back.

They kissed again before Eliot pulled him back into a tight hug instead. He held Quentin to him with one hand against his head and traced the other one up and down his back in a soothing motion.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said quietly, “for taking care of me. These last few weeks must have been hell for you. I can’t even imagine...”

Quentin cut him off by shuffling forward and squeezing him tighter. He felt like there was no way he could ever get close enough in that moment, but like hell would that stop him from trying.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied. “That’s part of the deal, you know. In sickness and in health.”

Eliot leaned his chin down to rest it on top of Quentin’s head.

“I propose we make a new deal,” he said. “Less sickness, more health.”

Quentin smiled even though Eliot couldn’t see him and nodded his agreement.

“Although I do hope you’re good at faking sick,” Eliot said, “because I am not letting you out of our bed for the next week at least. We have a lot of anniversary celebrating left to do.”

Quentin laughed and felt Eliot’s chest shake as he laughed with him.

“Yeah, alright, but you’re telling Jules,” he said.

“God help me,” Eliot replied.

They stood there on the Brakebills lawn, embracing and talking, for what felt like hours. Neither of them was in a hurry to move. It felt like the spell might be broken if they did, because it was one of those important moments. The kind of defining moment that could shape a life. Without it? They probably would have made it out alright in the end, but this wasn’t just alright. This was everything they could have hoped for.

Quentin knew he was going to spend his whole life being grateful for that moment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Thank you all so much for reading this story and for all of your kind feedback. It means the world to me. On to new adventures and happy endings!

They hadn’t set out to throw a New Year’s Eve party, but it ended up being the first chance they could get all of their friends in the same room. So Eliot, never one to back down from a party, had unequivocally volunteered to host the event. 

To say he was going overboard with the whole thing was an understatement, but considering the year they’d had, Quentin was letting him. Mostly. He’d vetoed the ice sculpture as soon as he saw it on the computer screen over Eliot’s shoulder.

In the end, after much planning and compromise, it was a mostly lowkey affair. 

Julia and Kady came, of course, which meant that Julia bullied Quentin into making good use of the karaoke machine Eliot had insisted upon with her. He even almost enjoyed it after a few drinks.

Margo, Fen, and Josh all came in from Fillory. Fen didn’t really _get_ the whole New Year’s Eve thing, but she was very excited to be there nonetheless. By the end of the night, Eliot got her to sing I Kissed A Girl with him while Margo looked on fondly, which was admittedly hilarious.

Alice and Penny even showed up, which was a rare occurrence. They weren’t quite as connected to the group these days, given that Alice mostly stayed at the Library and Penny had his own shit to deal with. He didn’t stay in touch often after how things ended with Julia, but he was still part of the group when it mattered. And that night, it mattered.

Even though Quentin tended to avoid parties as a concept, he had to admit that it was a nice night. He was surrounded by the people he loved most, and they all had a lot to be excited about going into the new year. Getting to kiss his husband at midnight was just the icing on top of the cake.

And the next morning, after everyone except the Fillory crew had gone home and it was just him and Eliot passed out in their bed, the year was already off to a fantastic start.

Quentin stirred awake sometime around midday judging by the sun slanting through the blinds of the bedroom window. The house was quiet, peaceful, which meant everyone else was likely still asleep too. A sign of a night well spent.

He glanced down and noted that Eliot was definitely asleep, as he was still curled around Quentin’s body with his head resting against his chest. He brought his outstretched arm up to wrap it around Eliot’s shoulders and tuck him in closer. Eliot grumbled something in response, and Quentin laughed quietly.

“What was that?” he asked teasingly.

Eliot turned his face just enough to be heard and repeated, “Don’t wanna get up yet.”

“We don’t have to,” Quentin reassured him.

He wrapped both arms around Eliot then, who sighed into the crook of his neck.

“Okay,” Eliot agreed.

He was already halfway back to sleep, and Quentin had no intention of disturbing him. He’d stay in bed all day if it meant they could stay just like this. Of course, they would have to fully wake up at some point. Eliot would complain that he was too hungry to hide out in their cocoon of sheets all day. They’d get up then, and get brunch with their equally hungover friends, and life would go back to business as usual. 

For that brief, quiet moment though, Quentin didn’t have to worry about any of that. It was only him and Eliot, in the little world they’d carved out for themselves.

Eliot, who mumbled, “love you” just as he was falling back asleep in Quentin’s arms.

He knew better than to think that their lives would be easy from then on, but they’d come out on the other side of enough bullshit for him to believe that they’d be okay anyways. He could trust that kind of proof of concept.


End file.
